


Dress Me Up, Strip Me Down

by CatAvalon (CazinaIna)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Clothing Kink, Dick Pics, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Fashion & Couture, Fashion Intern!Yuri, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Literal Sleeping Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Love, Masturbation, Moving In Together, Otabek Altin is a Dirty Tease, Plants, Rating May Change, Rimming, Security Guard!Beka, Sexting, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Texting, no one dies I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-04 20:11:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13372194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CazinaIna/pseuds/CatAvalon
Summary: He dreams about it at night. Yuri, in the flouncy little shirt he wore that day, slipping off his slender shoulders as he unties Otabek’s tie with thin fingers. Straddling him as he uses it to bind Otabek’s wrists together, behind his back so he can’t touch. Even in sleep, it’s excruciating, having Yuri there, so close yet untouchable, as his breath ghosts over his jaw, his cheeks, his lips, before drawing away and disappearing into darkness. Just like reality, Otabek thinks, when he wakes up hard and aching, desperate for something he hasn’t completely rationalised yet.*When a new intern starts working at the fashion office Otabek is a security guard at, his life abruptly explodes with colour. Yuri is cold, sharp and driven, but a softness lies within that Otabek's determined to discover.





	1. Leather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Another multi chap from the queen of unfinished WIPs. This one is almost finished, so I feel safe enough to start posting now. This fic was supposed to be a short one shot with Beka with a thing for Yuri dressing up, but it ran away from me, like things do, and I'm left with this. I am a lowly librarian, I know nothing about security or fashion intern work so I took some major liberties, but I've had so much fun writing this so I hope y'all enjoy it too!
> 
>  
> 
> For the amazing Ulablah on tumblr, happy late secret santa!

A finger twirls _around_ and _around_ the phone cord, just like a curl of blond hair was a minute ago. Otabek can only stand by and watch as the black coil snakes up to the point of a red nail, as a sultry voice cuts through the otherwise silence of the empty office. It’s before eight in the morning, so only unfortunate, underpaid souls haunt the premises- but Otabek doesn’t consider himself so unfortunate today.

“He got so _wasted_ , baba,” he says, crossing one fine leg over the over. They’re clad in a pair of tight, high waisted jeans, cinched in with a thick belt with the company’s insignia on it- a gold, looping LB. “Every third word was _Anya_ . Anya this, Anya that. Anya, Anya, fucking _Anya_.”

God, the way his lips curl around a snarl is sexy. Painted red, just like his nails, full and pouty. Otabek runs his tongue over his own bottom lip, imagining what they’d taste like. Inconspicuously, Otabek strolls from one end of the room to the over, glancing at the name plaque on his desk. _Yuri Plisetsky_ . _Yuri_. A name that’d sound nice bitten into sweaty skin.

“Look, look,” Yuri says, shoulder trapping the phone to his ear. He stretches his arms so that his cropped white shirt rises, revealing a little, lithe strip of stomach. Otabek’s eyes are glued to pale skin, memorising every freckle he can see, the dark mole that dots just above the button. “I’ve got to go and sort something out, Mila. I’ll meet you for lunch.”

Hastily, Otabek averts his gaze, staring intently at a patch of wall above Ms Baranovskaya’s office door. Heat burns deep in his chest, at the tips of his ears, and he re-adjusts his tie to distract himself from his wandering thoughts.

Until there’s a clack, loud enough to echo through the room. Otabek startles, then turns his attention to the source- a slim, stiletto heel propped up on a metal desk. Yuri’s eyes are downcast as he fumbles in his pocket, pulling out a stick of gum. Languidly, he peels away the silver wrapper with the tips of his nails, and Otabek tracks every move, every flick of his fingers, the way his lips wrap around them for a second as he takes the gum between his teeth, leaving red smears on his skin.

Then, he focuses his eyes on Otabek. Bright green, almost feline in their intensity, narrowed directly at him.

“What are you staring at, asshole?” he sneers, that snarl now turned on him, and God does it make Otabek hot under the collar. He fumbles for some sort of acceptable response, but luckily for him, he’s saved by a loud buzz, then the office doors bursting open as Ms Baranovskaya is escorted in. Her attention automatically zeroes in on the foot Yuri still has propped on his desk, lips thinning in distaste.

“Yurochka, if those god awful _Valentiono_ rip offs aren’t off my _Cattelan_ in three seconds, they’ll find themselves thrown out of my window with you still in them.” To his credit, Yuri only pales a fraction, but his feet move faster than Otabek can blink, and moments later the two of them disappear into her office.

A sigh of relief escapes Otabek’s lungs, and he slumps slightly against the wall. A sharp gaze with an even sharper tongue means nothing but trouble, yet thoughts of cherry lips curling around words, around fingers, around _him,_ haunt him even long after he falls asleep that night.

*

He’s wearing leather the next day, skin tight and sticking to the plastic chair he’s working in. Otabek watches curiously as he struggles to sit down after grabbing a bunch of photocopies, how he has to keep his legs stick straight and crossed at the ankle, reclining at and odd angle just to sit comfortably. _It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for fashion,_ he’d spat the first time Otabek smirked at one of the louder squeaks Yuri’d emitted after shifting.

And Otabek can’t complain, because yet again he looks mouth watering. His eyes linger on the curve of Yuri’s ass every time his back is turned, every time he bends over someone’s desk to study a document.

“If you stare at me one more time, I’m gonna cut out your eyes with my sewing scissors and give them to my cat to claw at,” Yuri seethes after crouching down to pick up a pen. He clicks towards Otabek in another pair of sky high heels, hips swaying in a way Otabek can’t help but watch, mesmerised, until he’s inches away. “I mean it-” he peers at the name tag hanging around Otabek’s neck, “- Otabek Altin. I know what guys like you want, and you’re not getting it.”

“And what’s that?” He doesn’t know how, _why_ , he says it. Maybe it’s the way Yuri’s breath feels, hot and heavy against the skin of his lips. Maybe he wanted to see how his pretty face would contort in shock. It’s only for a fleeting moment, but Yuri’s lips part and eyes widen, and it’s the most satisfying victory Otabek could have asked for.

Yuri breathes in, mouth open with a retort dancing on his tongue, when the office door behind him opens, and Ms Baranovskaya’s walking towards them, the sound of her Louboutins unmistakeable on the marble floor. Shadows darken Yuri’s brow, and his fine jaw clenches as he shoots Otabek one last glowering glare, before turning away.

“Am I paying you to flirt with security or to track down the sample I requested?” she asks stonily once Yuri’s finally back behind his desk again. This time, his skin blossoms with bright blooms of pink, at his neck, his checks, the tops of his shoulders revealed by his bardot shirt, and it’s so beautiful Otabek’s heart aches a little.

Once the Matriarch disappears back inside her office, a thousand daggers are aimed at Otabek’s skin in the form of green eyes narrowed into cat-like slits. Unfortunate for him, the pink that still adorns Yuri’s skin blunts the blades, and Otabek can’t help but smile to himself.

Small victories, he muses, as Yuri shifts in his seat and emmits his loudest squeak yet.

*

It’s stupid, really. _Attraction_. Normally, Otabek is attracted to simple things. The sleek lines of a beautiful motorbike, the brilliant green of a maidenhair fern, the first radiant rays of dawn as he runs down the street. Maybe it’s not a surprise that he finds himself inexplicably drawn to Yuri. He’s the encaptured form of the beauty that he loves, all perfect angels and light. He even has a prickly shell like the cacti that line every windowsill in his apartment.

And he’s infatuated by it.

Lust is something unfamiliar to Otabek. Unfamiliar in the sense that it’s completely encompassed him and invaded nearly every thought. He dreams in gold and green and can never quite blink away the linger traces that filters his vision. It bothers him, reacting like this without even _knowing_ Yuri. And he _wants_ to know him, but the fear of being shredded by those sharp spines keeps his tongue behind his teeth.

So he ignores it, as much as he can with Yuri before him all day, his rare smiles the first bloom of a _Mammillaria_ that take root in his heart.

*

Otabek tries to hold his tongue.

Most of their exchanges for the next couple of weeks are cold one liners and frozen looks across rooms and corridors. Despite his first initial impression, Yuri works undeniably hard and throws himself into his internship with complete determination and dedication, something that Otabek admires more than his appearance. He mentions it, one day, when Yuri’s hunched over his graphics tablet. The tips of his ears poking through his hair burn bright as he sputters at Otabek to _shut the fuck up_ and to _stop fucking teasing me_.

Otabek catches the slight curve of a smile that betrays him as he walks away.

They share an elevator up to the top floor the next morning- and not in silence, like Otabek expects to. At first, he tries to keep his eyes staring dead ahead, but it’s hard, so hard, when Yuri inches closer, and he can smell the sweet scent of his perfume permeating the distance between them.

“You seem like the kind of guy who can’t lie,” Yuri says as the doors close. Otabek glances at him from the corner of his eye just in time to see him crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the mirrored wall. “What do you think about my outfit?”

_This is a trick question, right?_

He doesn’t say it allowed, but the way his eyebrows raise must indicate his thoughts. As Yuri chews his lip, Otabek contemplates. He’s liked- more than liked- everything he’s seen Yuri worn, but at this point he’s not sure if it’s because of the clothing itself, or because of who’s in the clothing. He flicks his attention to waht Yuri’s wearing today: a pair of tailored floral trousers, a scallop hem gauzy shirt and a pair of strappy gold sandals. He looks gorgeous, of course, but Otabek can hardly say so, and the begins of a  frown begin to twist at his lips.

“Look, I’m not baiting you,” Yuri sighs when it becomes apparent Otabek isn’t going to answer, running a hand through glossy golden curls. “I just wanna know your opinion, that’s all. They’re… my own designs.”

The last part comes out more as a mumble, and Yuri attempts to hide his blush in his hair, and _God_ , Otabek wants to tuck the strands behind his ears and tell him how amazing he is.

“You made these?” Otabek can’t hide the his astonishment as he looks at the clothing in a new light. Everything is immaculate, from the tiny golden stitching down the outseam of Yuri’s legs, to the gathering of the chiffon at his shoulders.

“Yeah? I’m a textiles grad,” Yuri admits, scuffing his feet against the metal floor. “If I’m lucky, I might get to present some of my designs to Lilia for the Autumn/Winter collection.”

Otabek notices how Yuri says Lilia, and not Ms Baranovskaya. It’s common knowledge around the top floor now that Yuri is Lilia’s nephew. There have been rumours, and nasty remarks whispered behind hands, about how he’s only here because of their relations, how he doesn’t deserve a position that hundreds of others would chop their right leg off for.

Sometimes, when he thinks no one is looking, Otabek watches Yuri’s shoulders hunch, observes the wrinkle between his brow form as he worries his lip. It only lasts for a few moments- Otabek knows first hand now that Yuri’s skin is spikey enough to fend off  any unwelcome attacks- but there’s chinks in his armor that he doesn’t want anyone to see, and it leaves his eyes glassy and cold.

“I think they look great,” Otabek says eventually, as Yuri’s posture starts to slouch, and his bottom lip becomes trapped between his teeth.

“You do?” There’s a ding, and the elevator door opens to the upper lobby. Light spills into the elevator from the windows opposite them, but it’s not as bright as the smile that spreads across Yuri’s face.

Otabek gestures for Yuri to leave first, heart aching as he follows closely behind. “I do.”

*

After that, things shift, from something clean cut and black and white, to something mysterious and sepia toned. Yuri’s words still hold bite, but they’re no longer as venomous as they were when they first met. Instead of ignoring Otabek whenever their paths cross, Yuri offers a slight dip of his head, and sometimes, if he’s really lucky, a fraction of that smile he revealed in the elevator.

Sometimes they’ll queue to get coffee together at lunch. Every time, Otabek will comment on what Yuri’s wearing, a compliment, a question. _Green really suits you. What fabric is your shirt made from?_ And Yuri always rolls his brilliant, bright eyes but Otabek can tell from the blush in his cheeks that he’s preening under the attention.

“Nice tie, jackass,” Yuri will always retort, tugging on it so the knot tightens just like the lump in his throat. He wears the same one, every day, slate grey to match his slacks, standard uniform issue. Otabek always waits until he’s alone to fix it, too afraid that the slight tremor in his hands will give away just how affected he is by Yuri’s fist pulling on the fabric, pulling him in closer.

He dreams about it at night. Yuri, in the flouncy little shirt he wore that day, slipping off his slender shoulders as he unties Otabek’s tie with thin fingers. Straddling him as he uses it to bind Otabek’s wrists together, behind his back so he can’t touch. Even in sleep, it’s excruciating, having Yuri there, so close yet untouchable, as his breath ghosts over his jaw, his cheeks, his lips, before drawing away and disappearing into darkness. _Just like reality_ , Otabek thinks, when he wakes up hard and aching, desperate for something he hasn’t completely rationalised yet.

The mornings after those dreams are always the worst. Yuri walks into the office and Otabek has to pretend that he hasn’t seen the ghost of his own desire, that his chest doesn’t hurt at the sight of him, bent over his desk, scribbling down notes in red ballpoint ink. _You don’t know anything about him,_ he tries to argue with himself. Never before has Otabek been drawn to someone through just beauty- but it’s not just beauty. It’s his passion, his feisty spirit, the way he spits out words and blushes when anything soft is aimed at him.

_You don’t know anything about him- but you could._

It takes a few days for Otabek to work up the courage, to direct their conversations to something outside their working environment. Normally, their exchanges are nothing but Yuri discussing office gossip, or venting his frustrations with various working elements. He doesn’t expect Otabek to respond, is perfectly content for him to sit and eat his pasta salad whilst he sighs over cups of steaming tea, and Otabek’s just happy to be in his presence.

So it’s a shock to both of them when Otabek breaks his silence, spearing his fork through a tomato as he asks, “What are you doing later?”

They blink at each other as the question seeps across the cafeteria table, thick like tar, leaving a terrible aftertaste in Otabek’s mouth. _What are you doing later? Really?_ It- it sounds like he’s asking him out. Which Otabek’s fantacised about, sure, but God he is nowhere near ready, not ready to be rejected, to lose this budding friendship he’s been nurturing. _Idiot. You are such an-_

“I do yoga on Wednesday evenings, and visit my grandpa,” Yuri says carefully, chewing the pointed edge of a pearly pink nail. “We cook together, then he normally hands me my ass playing cards.”

“You cook?” Otabek asks, grasping onto any shared interest he can.

“Well, yeah,” Yuri says, blowing a lock of hair out of his face. “ _Grandpa_ always tells me _you can’t be relying on some poor wife to cook for you, Yurochka.”_ He gruffens his voice, wagging his fingers at the words. “ _I’ll be damned if I don’t teach you how to treat her well._ Jokes on him, I guess. I’ll just have to find a man willing to cook me dinner instead.”

 _A man_ . Otabek’s heart knocks painfully against his ribs. It’s not like he didn’t have his suspicions, but he didn’t want to make any outright assumptions either. It’s so tempting to say _I can cook you dinner_ , but Yuri’s eyes have glassed over, and he’s staring a little too intently into his green tea, his lip caught between his teeth in the way Otabek’s learnt is an indication of worry.

He waits, quietly chewing his salad, and offering Yuri the banana he bought just to give him anyway. Yuri takes it with trembling fingers, but tries to hide it as he peels the skin away and takes his first bite.

“He’s not well,” he admits after a long while, knuckles white around his mug as the discarded peel browns next to his elbow. “Grandpa, I mean.”

It’s a topic too heavy for this setting, a cafeteria bustling with noise, the jarring clinks of cutlery scraping porcelain, so Otabek changes it. Asks about Yoga, and what gym he goes to. It takes a few minutes, but soon they’re talking about workout routines and their running routes, and discovering that they live maybe ten minutes away from each other. Yuri’s fingers are still tight, but his eyes are lighter, and the smile he offers Otabek when they wait for the elevator spreads warmth through his still aching chest.

“Hey, Otabek?” Yuri says when they reach the top floor. He’s just finished tying his hair into a top knot, and Otabek’s busy pretending he hadn’t spent the past minute staring at the curve of Yuri’s neck.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” He steps out of the elevator first, smiling weakly over his shoulder as he walks. “You know, for listening.”

*

He’s lonely, Otabek thinks. Besides himself, he only ever sees Yuri talking to Mila, a boisterous photographer who’s always a little _too_ loud for his liking. Apart from that, Yuri’s always alone, always absorbed in his work, head bent over stacks of paper, or his tablet, as people walk past him without a second glance. There are five other employees with desks on their floor, and none of them ever make the effort to part with even a short greeting whenever they pass each other.

Not that Yuri tries, either. Sometimes Otabek wonders if he knows how to leave a lasting good impression on people. He stares, glares, and when he does speak, the words are harsh. _Almost as if he scaring people away before they get close._ He sees it now, sees the first couple of days they interacted, and _understands_ , cherishes this budding relationship that’s started to blossom, nurtures it by stopping by Yuri’s desk whenever he walks past.

People talk. People always talk, Otabek hears it now as he peers over Yuri’s shoulder at the evening dress design he’s working on. _They’re totally fucking._ But it doesn’t matter- _they_ don’t matter, the people who look and see what they want to see, what _Yuri_ wants them to see, instead of what’s truly there. What _does_ matter is the paper cup with a phone number scribbled on the side, traces of lipstick on the rim, that Yuri asks him to _deal with._

*

Nearly everyone’s left the office, but Otabek is on duty until Ms Baranovskaya leaves. Yuri’s phone vibrates against the metal of his desk every so often, lighting up with notifications. One of them is a text message from with a name and a _text me whenever you want._ Yuri’s been gone for a few minutes now, giving Otabek his best evil glare whilst gesturing with two fingers to watch over his belongings, like that wasn’t what he’s pretty much paid to do anyway.

When he returns, Otabek barely manages to muffle his sharp intake of breath. Yoga pants have never looked as good as they do on Yuri, hugging every muscle, the curve of his hips, his ass. And he’s wearing a crop top, the athletic kind with mesh panelling that allows Otabek a blurred glimpse of Yuri’s ribs. There’s a small tattoo just under his armpit, but Yuri moves to fast for Otabek to identify what it’s of.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” he announces, throwing everything into a holographic duffel bag. A leopard print hoodie is pulled out, and Yuri ties it around his narrow waist.

Otabek has to swallow thickly to coat his suddenly dry mouth, watching as Yuri takes a hairband between his teeth and begins to pile his hair on top of his head. “Yeah.”

Before he leaves, Yuri runs a few papers to Ms Baranovskaya’s office, and when he passes, Otabek swears Yuri grazes his fingers against his. The scent of his sweet perfume makes Otabek dizzy.

And then he’s gone, disappearing like he does in Otabek’s dreams, and all he can do is blink away specks of green and gold, and cross to the windows overlooking the city.

From his vantage from the top floor, he can see Yuri cross the street, to a gym Otabek’s never been to, never wanted to go to. When he gets home that night, he searches google until he finds the place, sighing to himself as he pulls out his credit card and subscribes to a monthly membership.

*

 **Yuri** : So when you say whenever I want, is now a bad time? _01:17_

 **You** : Whenever you want _01:20_

 **Yuri** : Did I wake you up? _01:21_

 **You** : Maybe _01:22_

 **Yuri** : Good night, Otabek _01:49_

*

Mondays and Fridays become their gym day. Yuri asks Otabek why he’s swapped venues, and Otabek lies through his teeth and says they didn’t have the equipment he needed. After work, Yuri will hang around the office until they’re both free, and they’ll change together in the locker room. It’s so incredibly hard not to stare, when Yuri’s stripped down into nothing but a pair of leopard print underwear, but Otabek keeps his eyes forwards. The last thing he needs is to pop a boner in his athletic shorts.

It turns out that Yuri’s actually a good spotter, and watching him stretch and work with the free weights whilst Otabek used the leg press was a great way to pass the time. In comparison to his often dainty exterior, Yuri liked to work _hard_. He ran longer and farther than Otabek, made sit ups and crunches look effortless, all whilst blaring heavy metal through wireless beats. Sweat just seemed to make Yuri glow, red faced and shiny in a way that really shouldn’t be as attractive as it was.

Sometimes, after they’ve finished showering and have nothing else to do, they’ll go to a smoothie place a few blocks over. Otabek always tries to buy, and Yuri mostly doesn’t let him. It’s only on days when there’s something bothering him, when he’s spent a little too much time running away from his thoughts on the treadmill, that Yuri caves.

“Wanna talk about it?” They’re at the point now where Otabek isn’t afraid to ask, hasn’t been ever since late nights texts became a thing they did. Yuri sighs, head hanging over the top of his _strawberry blitz,_ shaking his head at first. His hair is still wet, and water drips onto the table between them.

“It’s nothing.” Yuri traces his finger through the water, drawing the outline of a heart then dashing it through with a long, jagged swipe.

It’s not _nothing_. It never is. There’s clearly something important of Yuri’s mind, but if there’s one thing Otabek learnt watching Yuri those first couple of weeks, it’s not to push him. So he waits it out, drinks from his own cup, buys them a blueberry muffin to share, and hopes that he’ll eventually open up.

“I’m just stressed, y’know?” he admits, with crumbs still clinging to his bottom lip. He brushes them off with the back of his wrist and takes a deep, steadying breath.

And then it all pours out of him.

“The deadline for the portfolio review was set a couple days ago, and I don’t think I’ll be ready in time. And people are still complaining about me being here, like I don’t already know that I don’t deserve this opportunity. And grandpa’s still sick, and I really fucking should be with him right now, but instead I’m here with some hot guy, drinking a fucking smoothie that probably has more calories than I just burned, feeling sorry for myself.”

Otabek tries not to focus on _hot guy,_ but the two syllables ring in his ears, almost drowning out everything else that is said. And he hates that, hates how his infatuation can only focus on those six little letters, so he purposefully forces them out, let’s them fade away into nothing as he reaches out and rests his hands on Yuri’s trembling fingers. “Yuri-”

“Don’t.” He squares his shoulders, and stubbornly looks away.

But he doesn’t move away from Otabek’s touch.

“You deserve it.” Carefully, as if any sudden motion would cause him to flee, Otabek entangles their fingers together, and squeezes. Yuri glances down as if he can’t recognise his own appendage, eyes wide and shiny with the tears that had coated his voice. He blinks once, twice, a single drop loosening from the cage that is his eyelashes and slipping over his cheekbone as he tentatively squeezes back.

They stay like that for a while, Otabek brushing his thumb over the delicate skin of Yuri’s wrist and marvelling how anything could be so _soft_ , whilst Yuri stews in his thoughts, chewing the tip of his straw. Every so often, he’ll tighten his hold, as if he’s trying to ground himself back to this moment right here, right now. Otabek, though- he’d never be able to forget how it feels to share this tiny pocket of time with Yuri if he tried.

“I need to go,” Yuri says eventually. Otabek takes satisfaction in the fact that he sounds almost remorseful. Their fingers stay interlocked.  “I told _grandpa_ I’d be round before eight.”

“Do you need a ride?” Otabek asks, and Yuri contemplates for a moment biting his beautiful lip before nodding.

The walk to his bike is short and silent. Instead of holding onto Yuri’s hand, Otabek wraps an arm around his shoulder, letting Yuri sag against him. Sweet strawberries surround Otabek’s senses. Strawberry shampoo, strawberry shower gel, strawberry smoothie on Yuri’s breath. By the time they reach the office parking lot, Otabek’s committed it all to memory, filing it away with the feel of silken skin, how fragile the bones of his hand felt beneath his palm.

There’s only one helmet, of course, and Otabek gives it to Yuri without second thought. For a second he just stares at it, strikingly black against his pale pale _skin_ , before he shrugs and straps it on. Another image is committed to memory, of Yuri besides the Harley, blushing lightly as he mumbles, _well get on then, asshole,_ spitting hair out of his mouth.

Otabek takes it slow. He didn’t ask, but he can tell it’s Yuri’s first time on a bike by how the arms wrapped around his waist tighten almost painfully as he kicks off the pavement. Not that that’s a bad thing, not in the slightest. Yuri’s arms around him, Yuri’s fingers gripping fistfuls of his shirt, Yuri’s body pressing so tightly to his back he can feel every single breath he takes- as the wind tugs at his hair, and the touch of another tugs at his heartstrings, nothing has ever felt so _right_.

It all ends too soon, as all good things seem to do. The grey of the city blurs into something murky and brown, and then there are trees, and front gardens with little beds of flushing flowers, something Otabek’s always dreamed of owning himself. Yuri tugs on Otabek’s jacket and points at a quaint bungalow on the corner of the street, enclosed in a white picket fence with a gate embossed with the number _25_.

When they stop, Yuri stumbles off on feeble fawn feet, bracing himself on Otabek’s shoulders as he regains his balance. Without Yuri’s around him, Otabek feels colder, lighter, as if he could drift away at any moment, like his dreams. But there’s a grounding weight bearing down on him, and Yuri squeezes him in a way he can feel through layers of leather, flesh, muscle and bone, all the way to his core.

“Thanks,” Yuri mumbles, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. He takes a step closer, and it feels as if the space between them is on _fire,_ and Otabek longs for the burn of reaching out, doesn’t care if his skin blisters in doing so.

“Yuri,” he says, and he does it- reaches out, gently tucks Yuri’s windswept hair behind his ear, and watches in astonishment as Yuri leans into his touch. It _does_ burn, but deep in his chest, where his heart beats frantically at this tender moment of intimacy, and Otabek can feel his pulse vibrating through his veins, hot, heavy and hastily. He wonders if Yuri can feel it too. “You do deserve it. You deserve everything, Yuri.”

He’s not too sure why he says it. Maybe it’s because it’s true. Over the past couple of months, Otabek’s watched Yuri work so, _so_ hard. Has seen him with dark circles under his eyes and his lip torn and bloody for biting it non-stop. Has seen the results of his labour in the approving looks Ms Baranovskaya gives him over piles of paperwork, in the tight curve of her thin lips when he produces something truly remarkable.

Maybe it’s because Yuri deserves to have someone believing in him. Otabek knows just how hard it can be, being your only source of motivation and support. He wants to be that for him, wants to be the person who Yuri can come to when he's stressed, or upset. Wants to show him that he’s not alone, no matter what he thinks.

Hopefully Otabek’s able to convey everything he means. He thinks, when Yuri offers him the barest hints of a smile, that he succeeds.

“Will you be able to get back alright?” Otabek asks as he puts on his helmet. From the corner of his eye, he sees the tiniest twitch of a curtain, the crack spilling light across the lawn for a second before swallowing it whole again.

“I’ve always got the tube before, dumbass,” Yuri says, but he’s wearing the sly smirk that Otabek’s grown to love. After grabbing his stuff from the storage compartment, Yuri fumbles around until he pulls out a set of keys, a plush, fluffy tiger’s head adorning the metal ring.

And then he’s waving over his shoulder, and the front door shudders open to reveal a pair of tartan slippers and the tip of a pageboy hat, and Yuri disappears with them in them warm light of the bungalow.

*

 **You** : Did you make it home okay? _23:52_

 **Yuri** : Yeah, I got back about an hour ago _23:53_

img.097843923    _23:53_

(A selfie of Yuri, still in his workout clothes, with a cat on his lap. There’s white hair embedded into the dark fabric of his crop top, but the smile on Yuri’s face, and the spare hand buried in the fur at the cat’s nape shows that he doesn’t care.

Otabek saves the photo to his own phone. For safekeeping.)

 **Yuri** : Grandpa kept asking me about the strange man on the motorbike. I got a fifteen minute talking to _23:54_

 **You** : I’m sorry _23:55_

 **Yuri** : Nah it was worth it. You can drive me home from now on _23:55_

 **You** : Yes, your majesty _23:56_

 **Yuri** : That’s more like it _23:56_

 **Yuri** : Anyway, I’m gonna go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning. Night, Otabek _23:58_

 **You** : Sweet dreams, Yuri _23:59_

Before he goes to bed, Otabek searches google again. This time, for a motorcycle helmet in that leopard print Otabek knows Yuri loves. An hour later, with all of his disposable income gone for the month, an email confirmation comes through just as Otabek turns off his bedside lamp.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this was written to a playlist on spotify called sexy french vibes, tchaikovsky's 1812 overture, and sibelius's finlandia 
> 
> This fic will be updated on Sundays and Wednesdays unless I say otherwise on my tumblr- only the last chapter isn't completed so do not worry lads there is content coming your way.
> 
> [ catch me @ zeldaismyhomegirl if you wanna talk or find out what I'm doing next](http://zeldaismyhomegirl.tumblr.com/)  
> Y'all can also follow me on twitter [ @ItsCatAvalon](http://twitter.com/ItsCatAvalon)  
> I'll leave the sap for next time- I have a zine fic to finish for tomorrow!
> 
> xoxo Cat
> 
> p.s grammarly won't work on my mac anymore and that's my only beta so there's gonna be mistakes and i'm sorrrryyyyyyyyyyyy


	2. Lace

“I don’t have the time for this!” Yuri exclaims for the third time that day, storming across the top floor in nothing but nude stilettos and a pair of white leggings. Otabek, on the other hand, definitely has time for this. He thinks this might be the best working day of his entire life. He knows it is when Yuri bends over to unbuckle his heels, the thin material becoming all but see-through and revealing the outline of a tiny thong. _Oh my god._ “You said we’d be done two hours ago!”

To Yuri’s credit, everything is chaos. A major motorway is closed after a serious road traffic accident, and half of the models contracted to appear in the LB Androgyny shoot haven’t been able to get to location. Cue mass panic, and mass begging on Mila’s part, as Yuri and some of the other interns were roped into helping out. Consequently, the upper office has been converted into a half-assed dressing room so that people can continue working whilst getting ready.

And Otabek gets paid to bear witness to it all.

 _What is it that you actually get paid to do?_ Yuri had asked a few nights ago, Otabek only sending a copy of his job description in response. _Excellent senses? That’s a thing?_

They totally are, and Otabek’s using them now to observe the way Yuri’s muscles move beneath his skin.

“I’m sorry, Yura,” Mila says, red hair flouncing behind her as she goes to Yuri’s side, a mesh shirt in one hand, a pair of ripped jeans in the other. “Georgi already said we can pay you extra-”

“Paying me extra isn’t going to give me back my time!” he hisses, stomping behind a partition screen and throwing the leggings over the top. Otabek can see him hobbling from foot to foot as he dresses in his new attire. His toenails are painted periwinkle blue. “Do you know how long I’ve got left to get my designs ready?”

Three weeks. Everyone has three weeks to submit their designs. Yuri mentions it to Otabek at least once every conversation, in varying tones of hysteria. He’s spent more time watching Yuri work, bent over his tablet with a crazed gleam to his eye, than he has spoken to him in the past couple of days, and whilst his absence hurts, Otabek understands.

So he also understands how frustrating it would be having precious time snatched away from him by mundane demands. Like modelling, it appears.

“What a drama queen,” someone mutters under their breath, a beady eyed woman Otabek’s not bothered to learn the name of. Yuri practically snarls at her, flipping her off as he storms back around the screen and slumps in his desk chair. Understandably so, they pale, turning back to their computer with unease creasing around their eyes.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Mila promises, fixing Yuri’s hair as he stares down at his designs. An order buzzes through the earpiece in Otabek’s ear, and as he walks away, he hears Mila say, “You can borrow my Natasha Denona palettes whenever you want.”

When he returns a little while later, Yuri’s smokey eyed and positively cat like, narrowing his eyes at Otabek who stops dead in his tracks. Thick, black hearts have been taped across Yuri’s pectorals, easily visible through the fishnet material of his shirt, a choker decorated with a shiny silver bell emphasises his slender throat.

“You look great,” Otabek says after clearing his throat, silently hoping that his body doesn’t react in the way it wants to. Yuri looks more than _great_. He looks fierce, sexy in a ferocious feline way, staring at Otabek as if he is prey to be played with, teased with tapered talons that penetrate Otabek’s poor heart.

“See? I told you you don’t look ridiculous,” Mila gushes, spraying a cloud of hairspray over Yuri’s freshly curled hair. Yuri’s still eyeing him up suspiciously through the fumes, lips curling with unspoken words. But they don’t get to see the light of day, because someone who looks like the lovechild of Oscar Wilde and Gomez Addams flounces past Otabek in a cloud of smokey jasmine, and any expression on Yuri’s face melts into annoyance.

“Thirty minutes, I said! Thirty minutes maximum! Today is already in ruins, and now I can’t even trust you, my beloved friends, to keep on top of things? Oh sweet lord, mercy be upon me, give me stre-”

A hair brush fires through the air, and Otabek has to duck to avoid its warpath. “GEORGI!”

*

 **Yuri** : I got the photos back today. From the Androgyny shoot _21:19_

 **You** : Do they look any good? _21:24_

 **Yuri** : You can be the judge of that _21:26_

Otabek’s phone screen is filled with photos upon photos of Yuri. Yuri shirtless, a string of pearls clenched between his teeth. In a boyfriend blazer, bare chest and brazen with only a single button conserving his modesty. Posing in a deep-v shirt, the plunging neckline disappearing into the waistband of his fitted slacks.

And then there’s the dress, all mesh and draping golden chains, cinched in at the waist with a signature LB belt. Yuri’s wearing it with thigh high stockings adorned at the tops with plush roses, and a tiny pair of black shorts. But it’s not the clothing that Otabek’s focusing on- it’s the sultry look Yuri’s giving the camera from underneath his eyelashes. Sheepish, with a faux innocence that could drop men to their knees, biting on that plump lower lip in a gesture that’s oh so familiar, but masked with a completely different meaning.

With his eyes still caught in an emerald trap, Otabek’s free hand slips under the waistband of his sweatpants, brushing over his half hard dick. _I shouldn’t do this._ He really shouldn’t. There’s a big difference between touching himself to a fantasy rather than something tangible, something that’s not going to fade into blackness. Or maybe it will, because his phone screen dims, and he realises he’s simply been staring, fingers slowly coaxing himself to full hardness, for the past five minutes.

It’s quick, and dirty. Otabek doesn’t want to think about what he’s doing, simply wanting to come apart with Yuri watching him, with that fiendish gleam in his eye like he knows. He knows the effect he has, he knows that he has the power to make Otabek come, panting and shuddering, all over his sweatpants like some kind of teenager, in a matter of minutes with a final twist of his hand over the swollen, weeping head.

He lies there for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling with eyes opened wide. Every time he blinks, he sees Yuri’s face, made up and magnificent _,_ but morphing into the man he sees every day. A messy top knot, a smile hidden into his palm, ink stained fingers but with nails always painted impeccably. Now there’s an ache in his chest as well as his groin, and Otabek groans as he shoves his pants off and uses them to clean up the mess on his stomach.

He’s almost asleep when his phone vibrates, lain forgotten next to his hip.

 **Yuri** : That good, huh? _22:05_

 _Shit._ He gives it a few minutes before replying, so he can feign at least some sort of innocence. Internally though, his mind is screaming at him, horrible thoughts of how Yuri’s currently thinking about how _disgusting_ Otabek is.

 **You** : I fell asleep _22:09_

 **Yuri** : Sure you did _22:14_

 **Yuri** : Don’t pretend to be asleep again _22:22_

 **Yuri** : Otabek? _22:31_

 **Yuri** : Good night, asshole _22:45_

 **You** : Night, Yuri _01:17_

No matter how hard he tries, Otabek cannot sleep, lying rigid as stone cold regret pumps through his veins. It’s not like Yuri knows. He can’t possibly know for sure. Just friendly teasing, like they always share.

But it’s not just teasing. Halfway across the city, Yuri comes with a name on his lips sure in the knowledge that in another apartment, someone else has done the same.

*

Three weeks become two, and then the days seem to fly past as the **_Givenchy_ ** calendar pinned up behind Yuri’s desk bears more jagged crosses, inching closer to the date ringed in red. It’s almost painful, watching Yuri spend all his time obsessing over details, over colours and cuts, fabrics and finishes. More days than not, he’ll stay behind on his lunch hour to work. Otabek always brings back a sandwich and a coffee that is left untouched at first, but always disappears when his back is turned.

When he’s not working, he’s still _working._ Their gym sessions fizzled away weeks ago, and now it’s Yuri watching from the top door as Otabek disappears into the building opposite. Everyone’s noticed- it’s hard not to when Yuri snaps at everything and slouches to the office in sweatpants and unwashed hair scraped back into a ponytail. He’s given a wide berth and wary looks as he wields his scissors like a weapon, and looks about ready to throw them when something goes wrong.

Ms Baranovskaya notices today, or, more likely, she does something about it.

Otabek stands a little straighter as she exits her office, hoping Yuri will look up from where he’s muttering under his breath, hoping the pointed looks he sends are sharp enough to pierce his armour.

A bony fist pounds on top of Yuri’s sketchbook, and Yuri, desk chair and all, spring back until he bangs against the wall.

“Come with me.”

“I haven’t _done_ anything,” he complains. If it were anyone else talking back to Ms Baranovskaya, they’d be out of a job. Otabek knows it, everyone else watching with wide eyes knows it, but Yuri simply straightens himself and rolls back to his desk, shamelessly finishing the note he was writing around Lilia’s fingers.

The pen between Yuri’s fingers is torn away, and tossed into the waste paper basket.

“Now, Yurochka.”

There’s a lot of shouting. Words fly like bullets, breaking through the glass of the office door so that everyone can hear everything. Otabek wants nothing more to burst in and drag Yuri away kicking and screaming if he has to. His voice is raw and breaking as he argues back, frantic in it’s building intensity, a shocking comparison to the harsh coldness that is Ms Baranovskaya.

And then thankfully, a message comes through Otabek’s earpiece. Collecting himself, he turns and knocks twice on the door, and Yuri’s voice cuts off as if his vocal chords have been snipped by his beloved sewing scissors.

The silence that follows is deafening.

A throat clears. “Yes?”

Otabek enters, purposefully looking anywhere but Yuri. From the corner of his vision, Otabek can see him, palms flat on Lilia's desk and leaning in, red faced and furious. It'd be beautiful if it weren't so frightening. “Your ten o’clock is waiting in the lobby.”

“Very well,” Lilia answers, smoothing down the sleeves of her cream blazer before stepping around Yuri. He shudders, arms trembling even as his knuckles turn white from how hard he’s gripping the marble tabletop. “You may leave, Yuri.”

Finally, Yuri tilts his head to look up at Otabek, eyes rimmed red and glassy. He’s pressing his lips so tightly together, they are nothing but two, pale lines, the scars of his outburst. It takes a few moments for Yuri to straighten- Otabek watches his chest heave as he takes deep, steadying breaths- and when he does, when he walks away from the fight, he makes sure to knock into Otabek.

Hard.

“Won’t you please escort Ms Kulonov up to see me, Mr Altin?” Ms Baranovskaya asks, taking a seat behind her desk and rearranging her stationary. Her tone may be casual, but underneath lies the same bitter chill that laced the words aimed at Yuri. “Now?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As he exits the elevator with a middle aged woman wearing too much Chanel no 5, Yuri’s heading out of the bathroom. Tear tracks still paint his cheeks, and there’s water dripping down his chin as if he has tried hard to scrub away the evidence. But Otabek sees everything, like he always does. Sees the defeated slump of slender shoulders, the crescent moon craters at his temples.

His lip is blotted crimson with blood.

*

“We’re going out for lunch.”

It’s a surprise when Yuri doesn’t dispute, when he instead kicks back from his chair and throws a hoodie on over his sweats. He trails sullenly as Otabek leads them to a little hole in the wall burger joint, with private booths they can hide in for an hour. _Order me anything_ Yuri mumbles, disappearing to their table and pulling his legs to his chest. He stares after Otabek for a moment before shifting, resting his cheek on his knees and watching the first spatterings of rain spray against the window.

For a while, Yuri’s food sits untouched in front of him. Otabek picks at his fries whilst scrolling through his phone, trying ever so hard to make himself look nonchalant when in reality he feels just as on edge as Yuri seems to be. Eventually, an onion ring disappears, and then another, and Yuri’s attacking his burger with the same gusto he tackles his work. Otabek suspects it’s the first proper meal he’s had in days, licking his lips as he watches Yuri’s Adam’s apple bob every time he swallows.

Their plates are soon empty, and so is the air around them. Otabek waits just as he always does for Yuri to speak, nudges his foot under the table whenever his eyes stray to his clasped hands resting in his lap, always rewarded with a wobbly, insincere smile.

“Yuri,” Otabek murmurs when he runs out of patience, reaching a hand over the table and lightly brushing his fingertips over Yuri’s wrist. To his horror, Yuri jerks back, cradling his arm against his chest as if he’s been burnt. Otabek can’t help the wounded look that flickers over his features for a second before he schools himself back to neutrality. And Yuri sees it, sees his own moment of weakness, and his lower lip trembles dangerously.

Otabek’s sitting next to Yuri instantly, wrapping an arm around his waist to draw him in closer. Hot, wet tears bleed through the material of his shirt, and Yuri’s clutching onto his tie with a force that almost chokes Otabek.

“She says I’m going to be a burnout,” he hiccups out, loud and messy over the low chatter in the diner. “I’m not a fucking burnout.”

“You’re not,” Otabek agrees, gently loosening Yuri’s grip and knotting their fingers together. Yuri squeezes so hard their bones threaten to break under the pressure. “Yuri, you’re not a burnout, but you will be if you don’t look after yourself.”

Otabek feels the argument rumble through Yuri’s chest and into his own, but he quietens it quickly with the briefest press of his lips to Yuri’s head. Beneath him, Yuri shudders, and whatever fire had started to rekindle diminishes as a nose nudges against Otabek’s throat.

“I know.” It’s a confession Otabek wasn’t expecting to hear, one he was so sure Yuri wasn’t ready to make. Denial had taken over completely the past couple of days, but it seems like a decent hot meal and a good telling off had worn down his defences and allowed him to see the truth. “I know that, Otabek, I do. I just want this, so so bad. If selling my soul is what it takes to get this, I’d give my body, no holds barred.”

“Don’t you see how unhealthy that is?” Otabek asks, and Yuri snorts softly, drawing away.

“Of course I do. I haven’t slept properly in months, I feed my cat more meals than myself, I look like shit. I can’t remember the last time I simply breathed.”

“Now,” Otabek says, running his thumb over Yuri’s cheekbone and smoothing away an errant tear. “Just breathe now.”

“What, inhale in the smell of grease and garlic?” he snorts, rolling his eyes at the suggestion. It doesn’t matter if he thinks it’s ridiculous though- Yuri’s wearing the first smile that he’s seen in days.

“We can go outside if you prefer,” Otabek says with a shrug, and Yuri rests his head back on Otabek’s shoulder, playing with their twined fingers beneath the table. “Tonight you are going to go home and _relax._ You’re going to do yoga, and take a bath, and sort out your hair-” _who fucking said there was anything wrong with my hair? Yuri grumbles,_ “-and you’re going to have a full night’s sleep.”

“Or what?” Yuri taunts, raising a slim brow.

“Or nothing,” Otabek chuckles, shaking his head. “Ultimately it’s up to you, but it’s something that I’d really like you to do, Yuri.”

“God you’re such a dad sometimes.” An unexplainable heat rushes to Otabek’s cheeks, and he turns away, eyes landing on the lone employee working at the counter giving them knowing looks over the top of a gossip magazine.

“I expect picture evidence, too.” He taps at the phone Yuri’s just pulled out of his hoodie. Notifications fill the screen, from instagram, and messenger. Mila’s name appears more than once, followed by increasingly frantic inquiries into Yuri’s wellbeing.

“Of me in the bath?” Yuri smirks, up at him, fingers flying over his keyboard and okay, _wow_ , Otabek’s really landed himself in it this time.

Instead of fretting over his insinuating words, he somehow, and God only knows where he pulls it from, manages to cooly, perhaps even flirtily, save the conversation. “That’s to your discretion, but I won’t let any image go overlooked.”

“Pervert,” Yuri says, with an accompanying elbow to his ribs. He spends a few more moments texting, and then he’s nudging Otabek with his knee and grabbing his hand again. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

*

 **Yuri** : You’re gonna be so proud of me _21:32_

 **You** : Am I? _21:34_

 **Yuri** : img.07843923 _21:35_

Two pictures appear, the first one with a bathtub filled to the brim with bubbles dotted with what can only be glitter glimmering in the dim lighting. There’s a large glass of red wine on the side and, to Otabek’s amusement, a huge bowl of pasta balanced on the edge. The second is a photo of Yuri himself- in the bath, and definitely not attempting to look sexy. Slices of cucumber are sliding down his face, a murky mudpack smeared over his skin and his hair piled on top of his head coated in a slimy concoction that Otabek assumes is leave-in conditioner. The wine glass rests empty at his shoulders, and he holds his thumb up in a sign of approval.

He’s still the most beautiful thing Otabek’s ever seen.

 **Yuri** : I used bubble bath, two bath bombs and a shit ton of essential oils. I hope you’re happy _21:35_

 **You** : Very _21:36_

 **Yuri** : You were expecting something a little more scandalous, weren’t you? _21:37_

 **You** : Never _21:38_

 **Yuri** : img.0943872 _21:41_

Scandalous is what Otabek gets. The shot shows Yuri long legs, wet and shiny, clinging with foam. A strip of his lithe little stomach takes up the bottom of the screen, and bubbles have been arranged just so that his hips and groin are barely covered.

 **Yuri** : Go and pretend to be asleep again then, Otabek (; _21:42_

 **You** : On the contrary I’m suddenly very wide awake _21:43_

It’s easy to flirt over the phone, when there’s a protective barrier between them. Otabek snaps a picture of himself, shirtless in nothing but sweats, knowing that the outline of his stirring dick is very visible in his sweatpants in the lower right corner of the screen, and sends it to Yuri before he can second guess himself.

 **Yuri** : Looks like someone else is awake too (; _21:46_

 **Yuri** : Though I am actually very tired and going to bed. After all, I was prescribed an early night _21:47_

 _Tease_ \- but Otabek doesn’t expect anything else. In fact, he finds it rather endearing.

The way he comes, hot and sticky in his hand, mere minutes after they say goodnight is anything but.

*

They don’t talk about the night before the next day, but the flush in Yuri’s cheeks gives everything away, and Otabek’s sure he has a similar rosiness to his complexion. It seems unimportant, though, in comparison to the approaching deadline, and Otabek is willing to hold his tongue until after, even if it does take all of his willpower. It’s obvious now that there’s more than just a spark between them, a flame that threatens to become an all-consuming fire every single moment they spend alone together. Otabek feels it burn through his veins every time Yuri looks at him, sees the heat creep up Yuri’s throat and kiss the skin of his ears crimson.

Yuri returns to his work with a freshness to his attitude that everyone notices. Rather than feverous frenzy shining in his eyes, they’re lit with an intent determination that Otabek can’t help but admire. From a distance, though, because even though Yuri’s less stressed and focused, he’s still put a _no socialising_ ban up that Otabek tries to break at every permissible opportunity,

“I said no friends,” Yuri scolds him one lunch as they’re waiting in the queue at the salad bar. Otabek watched him dash out just after twelve and followed hot on his heels. Anyone witnessing probably thought that something serious had gone down by the speed Otabek had strode to the elevator. Yuri just straight out ignored him, but he hadn’t expected anything less. “No friends, and you.”

“And me?” Otabek parrots, not sure if he’s supposed to feel offended or not.

“Yes, and you,” Yuri says, rummaging for change in the pocket of his skinny jeans to pay for his caesar. “You and your fucking dumbass tie.”

“Why do you always-” but Yuri’s already turned, tugged on the fabric, and is walking away waving a peace sign over his shoulder before Otabek can even register what’s happened.

Needless to say he shares quite the strangest look with the lady serving behind the sneeze guard.

“Yuri,” Otabek tries again back in the office, but there’s already a fork waving in his face, speared through with lettuce.

“No, Otabek,” he says, shoving the leaf into his mouth and chewing as he scans over a page on his tablet. “I can’t have any distractions right now. Do you know how many days I have?”

Of course Otabek knows how many days he has left, is probably counting them down just as avidly as Yuri’s dreading them. “Two.”

“And do you know what my biggest distraction is?” he asks, making a quick annotation on a blazer design in his rushed, cursive script.  “You.”

“Me?” He’s beginning to sound more like Ms Baranovskaya than Otabek’s comfortable with.

He’s going to make a great creative director one day.

Yuri snorts, but then schools his expression back to seriousness. “Yes, you. So let this be your final warning, or leafy greens aren’t going to be the only thing I’m stabbing. Capiche?”

Standing up straight, Otabek offers a curt salute, barely managing to smother the smile that threatens to creep onto his face. “Loud and clear.”

*

 **You** : I have one request _20:46_

 **Yuri** : Two minutes, and then I’m turning off my phone _20:52_

 **You** : Dinner, after work on Friday- my treat _20:53_

 **Yuri** : A date? _20:53_

 **You** : Do you want it to be? _20:54_

 **Yuri** : Yeah. I do _20:56_

 **You** : Then it’s a date _20:57_

 **Yuri** : Well you’re gonna have to pick me up later then, because it looks like I’m getting dressed up _20:59_

*

Friday comes, and with it a sigh of relief. Yuri positively beams as he steps out of Ms Baranovskaya’s office after depositing a thick folder onto her desk, although Otabek can tell by the dark circles under his eyes that he hasn’t slept much. He lets him off, just this once. It’ll probably be the last sleepless night he has in a while.

True to his word, Yuri does go home after work. “Not gonna lie, though, I am taking a nap first.”

“Good,” Otabek retorts, tucking stray hair behind Yuri’s ear and delighting in the flush that colours his cheeks. “Get some rest.”

“Yes, sir.”

Otabek watches him walk away with a different ache in his chest than usual, warm and unfurling like the first new petals of a rose. Yuri shoots a smile over his shoulder and waves before disappearing into the elevator, and it’s so hard not to follow him, to follow him anywhere, when his blood sings for him like a siren’s song.

It’s only a few hours, yet they stretch and contort like tortured elastic. The minutes creep by at first, and only when Otabek’s at home trying to choose something appropriate to wear do they begin to speed up, leaving him standing in front of his mirror wearing nothing but boxers and an unbuttoned shirt with only ten minutes until he has to leave.

First dates have never held any significance to Otabek before. Normally, he doesn’t know the person all that well, and everything’s more like an experiment rather than an experience he wants to cherish. Yuri, though- he deserves the world, and all Otabek has to offer is a little part of his own, and he dreads that it isn’t enough.

 _You’re being stupid,_ he scolds himself, even as his palms begin to sweat, his pulse flickering fast in his throat. But he can’t help it; there’s still a little seed rooted in his brain, a thought saying that Yuri’s going to wake up and realise that Otabek isn’t what he wants. He longs to weed it out, yet he thinks only Yuri’s fingers, Yuri’s touch, will ever be able to eradicate the doubt.

It does wither, though, when he pulls up to the curb, and he sees Yuri. Yuri, dressed all in black, with the pearly white of his smile and the gold of tumbling curls glowing in the streetlamp.

“You’re late,” he tuts as Otabek hands him his helmet.

“Not everyone knows how to dress impeccably,” Otabek says, smiling as Yuri’s laugh carries down the street, carries the last of Otabek’s nerves away with it. “You ready?”

“More than ever.”

*

The restaurant is quaint, quiet and family owned, an Italian place called _Crispino’s_ that has tiramisu to die for. It’s warm, with soft flickering candlelight and piano music delicately drifting over the Friday night conversation.

There’s also a fat black and white cat lounging outside.

“Look at you!” Yuri coos, clicking his tongue to garner the feline’s attention. A collar around its neck tells them that he’s called Gino, and Yuri scratches under his chin until a loud purr rips out of his furry little chest. “You’re are the best boy I’ve seen all day- the best. Don’t go telling my Potya that.”

After a few more pats, and a kiss to the cat’s head that makes Otabek surprisingly jealous, they head inside and are seated in the back corner, far away from the few families that are also eating there. Yuri twists the tablecloth between his fingers whilst he studies his menu, lip caught between his teeth.

“You’re nervous,” Otabek frowns, causing Yuri’s eyes to shoot up.

“No, I’m- I’m not,” he stutters, releasing the fabric and smoothing it down, red nails a stark comparison against crisp white. “Maybe a little. I’ve never done this before. Dating.”

Otabek raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I was more of a _hookup and get out_ kinda guy in University,” Yuri shrugs, fiddling with his cutlery now instead. “Less mess, no heartbreak to deal with.”

“I’m not going to break your heart.” Reaching across the table, Otabek pries a fork from Yuri’s fingers, and replaces it with his own. He allows himself, now that this is real, to admire how their skin looks together, cream and copper, complimenting. It spurs his mind to think of how their bodies would look pressed together, wrapped around each other like yin and yang.

“I know, but you’re sure making it feel funny,” he admits, toying with Otabek’s thumb as a shy smile plays on his lips. “You’ve been making it feel funny for a while.”

After a waiter takes their order, Otabek asks about Potya, the cat he’s only seen in fleeting photos, and Yuri comes alive. They fall into the ease that is their casual conversation, and Otabek wonders why he ever worried at all. Watching the animation on Yuri’s face, the light in his eyes emphasised by the gentle candle glow, the way he stops and just smiles at Otabek whenever he wants, just because he can- it’s made the past few months of patience completely worth it.

Otabek’s also enjoying the new flirty touches Yuri keeps introducing. Beneath the table, his foot strokes up and down Otabek’s leg, occasionally accompanied by little squeezes to his knee. Their hands remain linked above the table until their food arrives, and Otabek can’t help but think they’re like every lovestruck couple he’s ever silently mocked in his head.

He’s sorry now, of course. He knows now what it feels like to want to be around someone, to touch them whenever possible, a magnetic thrum in each other’s veins drawing them closer and closer together until there’s nothing between them but their love.

Maybe that’s a bit too much for a first date, but Otabek can’t deny that it’s not true.

The corners of Yuri’s lips are stained red with pasta sauce, making his mouth look painted like a watercolour. Without thinking, Otabek leans in, gesturing Yuri closer so he can run his thumb around his mouth.

Yuri’s lips part under his touch, and he looks up at Otabek with these huge, hopeful eyes, and it’s so easy to close the distance, their noses bumping lightly. Yuri’s eyes flutter closed, his curled lashes casting long shadows over his cheekbones, and Otabek brings a hand to cradle his jaw, adjusting their position so, finally, their lips meet.

It’s barely a brush, but Yuri jumps away.

It’s only after a few heart shattering seconds that Otabek realises it’s not because of something he’s done.

“Sorry,” Yuri mumbles, patting at his jacket. Only now can Otabek hear the steady buzz of Yuri’s phone vibrating. “I’m sorry, I thought I put it on do not disturb.”

Understandably, Otabek’s a little bitter that their tender little moment was ruined, but he doesn’t let it show. After all, they have plenty of time to themselves. Another opportunity will come along; Otabek’s waited months to kiss Yuri, he can surely wait a few more minutes.

“It’s grandpa,” Yuri says, deep lines knitting his pale brows together. “I should probably take it.”

“I don’t mind,” Otabek says, because honestly, he doesn’t, knowing just how important Yuri’s grandfather is to him. If there was ever a worthy enough interruption, it’s him.

“I’ll just be a minute,” Yuri promises, pushing away from the table. Before he leaves, he drops a lopsided kiss to the corner of Otabek’s mouth, a reminder of what they’ve missed but a taste of what’s to come.

But Yuri isn’t just a minute. After about five, Otabek begins to worry. He doesn’t think Yuri’s ditched him, but he can’t help but think maybe there’s something wrong.

Ten minutes go, and Otabek’s sent a text asking him if he’s alright. When he doesn’t get a response, he decides to look for Yuri instead. His first thought is that maybe he’s playing with the cat again, but there’s no sign of Yuri on the street.

When he enters the bathroom, he hears the wretched sound of retching, and Yuri’s stood over a sink, hands gripping the porcelain so hard his entire body shakes.

“Yuri?”

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, spitting into the sink. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Otabek asks, reaching his side and holding Yuri’s hair from his face. “Are you sick?”

“N-no,” he splutters, a shudder running through his body. He pushes Otabek away as he retches again, but nothing comes up but a wave of fresh tears. “It’s grandpa. He’s- they said he had a heart attack. He’s been taken to hospital, Otabek, I don’t know if he’s going to make it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops?
> 
>  
> 
> [ zeldaismyhomegirl](http://zeldaismyhomegirl.tumblr.com/)  
> [ @ItsCatAvalon](http://twitter.com/ItsCatAvalon)  
> [job description that apparently doesn't wanna be embedded in the fic ](https://www.expertsecuritytips.com/duties-of-a-security-guard/)  
> xoxo Cat


	3. Velvet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Sunday in England, and I wanted to get this to y'all asap. Enjoy ^.*

Otabek’s never felt dread quite like this. It’s a sickness in the pit of his stomach that creeps into his bones and crawls under his skin, and Otabek’s barely able to think straight enough to drive the motorbike in the right direction. 

For Yuri, it must be so much worse. He’s clinging to Otabek with a tightness that screams fear, the tremors from his body vibrating through Otabek’s own chest. Every time they stop at a light, Otabek squeezes Yuri’s hand, and every time he feels Yuri stiffen behind him. Otabek wants to do something more, wants to be able to comfort him with more than just the occasional brush of skin on skin, but there’s only so much he can do whilst he threatens to breaks speed limits.

He doesn’t know if the hospital sign brings relief or dread.

The parking is extortionate but it doesn’t matter. People stare at them, tear stained and dressed to the nines, as they search for someone,  _ anyone _ , who knows what’s going on, but it doesn’t matter. They finally reach a reception, a queue, a woman with dark circles and smudged lipstick who asks for a name.

“Plisetsky,” Otabek answers, because Yuri’s been hyperventilating ever since they walked through the hospital doors. Disinfectant scents the air, and it’s so distinct, so medicinal that it feels like he’s breathing in concentrated uneasiness.

“Nikolai Plisetsky,” Yuri manages to force out, voice croaking around the syllables as if they’re breaking apart in his mouth. Otabek’s arm tightens around Yuri’s waist as he staggers forwards a few steps, the heels of his boots scraping on the floor. “They said they were bringing him here.”

No one asks who  _ they  _ are, so Otabek’s left to wonder as Yuri gives more details, stuttering and stammering over himself in his panic. 

“Let me see what I can find.” Otabek feels each click of the keyboard beating in his chest. “Currently, Mr Plisetsky is undergoing different tests in the Coronary Care Unit, but it’s unlikely you’ll be able to see him tonight-”

“But I have to-”

“It’s vital to his care that you let the doctors do their job,” she interrupts, and Yuri’s lip quivers. “You’re more than welcome to wait, and we’ll send the attending over when we have more information.”

Yuri’s body goes rigid under Otabek’s touch, taut like a bow strong ready to shoot words of retaliation. Making the decision to step in, Otabek steers Yuri away, uttering a quick  _ thank you  _ over his shoulder as they walk away. 

The CCU is on the opposite side of the building, and the walk stretches on for eternity. Yuri breaks away from Otabek and strides ahead, chin held high even if the involuntary shudder wracks him. He looks like someone preparing for battle, one they don’t know whether they’re going to win or not. With every step, Otabek watches his resolve strengthen, sees his shoulders square, his fists clenched at his side instead of holding his heart in his chest. 

He can hear the near silent prayers that Yuri breathes.

All for it to crumble down again with the final blow of a doctor’s words.

“He’s in surgery right now.” It all washes over Otabek, talks of  _ stents _ and  _ cardiac catheterisation,  _ different drugs and drips and diagnoses that make little sense to someone unfamiliar with medical jargon. To his credit, Yuri simply nods through it all, the only sign of weakness the lip that he gnaws on.

And then when they’re alone, when it’s just the two of them standing in a corridor filled with the whirs and birrs of machines, the choking breath that Yuri drags into his lungs is louder than it all.

“Yuri,” Otabek says softly, reaching out, but he’s already walking away.

“I’ve gotta-” he starts, scrubbing his hands through his hair as he paces. “I’ve got to  _ be _ there. I’ve got to see him.”

“Yuri, all we can do is wait.” It breaks his heart to say it, but Yuri deserves transparent honesty, even if it’s not what he wants to hear. When he passes, Otabek gently takes Yuri’s wrist. For a moment, he’s sure he’s going to pull away again, but the contact seems to spur something within him, and Yuri shudders to a halt.“Come on. Let’s sit down.”

“I- I’ve-” he begins to argue, but the fight has been drained from him, and he sags into Otabek’s body, staring at the ward doors with the tired eyes of a fallen soldier. “Yeah. Yeah okay.”

He leaves Yuri, curled up like a child with his legs hugged to his chest, in a small waiting room to buy bottles of water from a vending machine they’d passed. An alarm sounds overhead, and it’s enough to make Otabek jump, dropping his change on the floor. He wonders if tonight is going to be like this, hearing beeps and buzzes and believing that something’s gone wrong, waiting for the inevitable moment where a doctor approaches them, and it can only either be good or bad.

He wants more than anything, more than any longing he’s had for Yuri, for it to be good.

“Here,” he says, knocking a bottle against Yuri’s feet. “To clean your mouth up.”

“Thanks.” Yuri doesn’t sound thankful in the slightest, but downs half the contents and a stick of bubblemint gum before he speaks again. Or tries to speak again. All that comes out at first is a strangled noise that makes Yuri’s cheeks burn, and he hides his face in his hands as he tries to regain control again.

“I missed the calls. The ones telling me he wasn’t okay.” It’s barely above a whisper, and Otabek leans in closer, leads Yuri’s head to rest against his shoulder. When he speaks again, the words are filled with such sorrow, Otabek can taste the unshed tears that coat them. “I wasn’t there when he needed me.”

“Yuri,” he breathes, and Yuri buries his face in Otabek’s neck, wraps his arms around him and clings on to him for dear life. Hot tears drip down Otabek’s skin, and he can feel the warm puffs Yuri’s breath as he rubs against his throat. “You’re here now.”

“But it might be too late,” he whispers, and the silence that follows speaks louder than any half truth Otabek could conjure. All he can do is quell his own insecurities and stroke Yuri’s hair as he shakes, to be the pillar of strength Yuri needs him to be.

The night is long and lonely. No one else joins them in the little waiting, and it’s hot and unbearably stuff. Yuri tries to stay awake, pinches himself whenever he gets close, but not even the stale canteen coffee dregs he drinks is enough to keep him awake. Eventually, he makes a bed out of Otabek’s thighs and his bunched up blazer- Otabek catches a glimpse of the Gucci label peeking out just below Yuri’s ear as he brushes Yuri’s hair from his cheek.

Even in sadness, there’s an almost gothic elegance to his blotchy skin and wet eyelashes. Otabek can’t help but stare, would rather gaze upon a sleeping beauty than watch the clock above the door tick away the seconds. Yuri stirs occasionally, snuggling closer to Otabek’s stomach, a single hand fisted into his shirt, the other entwined with Otabek’s fingers. He wishes this were under different circumstances, wishes he could witness Yuri in the softness of sleep anywhere but here. In his bed is where he’s imagined it most, or in Yuri’s, illuminated by the first rays of dawn, not washed out in harsh artificial lights.

But it’s here, in a place that sees so much birth, so much death, on a night that was supposed to be the start of something new. Maybe it’s ended before it’s even begun.

_ No.  _ Otabek shakes his head forceful enough to cause Yuri to startle, blinking slowly as realisation returns. “Otabek?”

“Do you need anything?”

“Cold,” Yuri says simply. How he can be Otabek doesn’t know, but he shucks off his leather jacket for him regardless and Yuri wraps it around his shoulders. After a few moments, he shifts so he’s laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling tiles. There’s 248 of them- Otabek’s already counted. “Thanks.”

Otabek’s hand returns to Yuri’s hair, massaging little soothing circles into his scalp, and tired green eyes begin to drift shut once again. He too is exhausted, muscles cramped and aching, longing for a surface not crafted from plastic to rest upon.

Yet he obviously manages to sleep, because the next thing he knows is that there’s a doctor standing before them, with the words  _ you can visit  _ ringing in the air, and the warmth that was Yuri spread across his legs has disappeared leaving nothing but long blond hairs and a crumpled blazer in its wake.

The clock reads eight forty five- they’ve been here for nearly twelve hours- and lucky for them, if you can call such a thing luck, it’s a Saturday. Work is the last thing on Otabek’s mind, is probably forgotten about altogether by Yuri, but at least it’s one less thing they have to worry about. Standing up and emitting and inhumane groan, Otabek stretches his legs, paces the room like Yuri had the night before, and when after a while Yuri hasn’t returned, leaves to relieve himself, something he hasn’t been able to do all night trapped beneath Yuri’s body.

Yuri’s back when he returns, slouching in a chair with his foot bouncing on the floor. 

“He’s fine,” he says, as if he can’t quite believe it. Otabek’s not sure if he does himself. “Well not fine, but he’s alive. He’s  _ alive _ .”

*

There’s not much more that they can do at the hospital. Nikolai needs to rest and recover.  _ They _ need to rest and recover. On the way back to the bike, Yuri makes a few phone calls, sounding weary beyond his young years. 

One of them is to Lilia. 

Otabek tries not to listen, distracts himself in getting out the bike keys, finding his parking ticket and grabbing their helmets, and it’s so hard not to, especially when Yuri keeps as close to Otabek as he possibly can, linking their pinkies together as they walk. It’s mostly reassurances, that  _ grandpa’s going to be fine,  _ and  _ yes we should be fine to come in Monday,  _ and then more medical terminology that goes straight over his head.

Then the conversation ends, and Yuri hangs up with a long, withering sigh, and when Otabek asks where he wants to go, he murmurs, “Take me home.”

It’s the first time Otabek’s ever entered Yuri’s apartment. He’s only seen it in glimpses from the background of photos Yuri’s sent him, flashes of animal print, splashes of vivid violet and vermillion and piles of faux fur. 

And his cat, which greets them as soon as they walk through the door.

“Come here, baby,” Yuri coos, scooping the feline up into his arms and cradling him like a baby. Tiny feet paw at Yuri’s face, and he presses kisses to the toes, and then the tip of Potya’s nose.“I’ve missed you so much.”

Yuri wanders further into the apartment, murmuring nonsensically in his hushed, sing song tone, and Otabek’s struck with not knowing what to do. Should he follow, make sure that Yuri’s okay before sending him to bed? Or should he give him his space, give him time to come to terms with what’s happened on his own? 

“Don’t leave.” Otabek barely hears him, would have sworn he’d imagined it if Yuri hadn’t of come back, hadn’t stretched his hand out towards him with a desperate look in his eyes. “Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” And he isn’t. There isn’t anywhere in the world he wants to be but Yuri’s side, anything more important than allowing Yuri to lead him into the living room, into his home built out of stacks of magazines, strips of fabric and cat towers, and into the sanctity of his private life.

“I’ll go make us some tea,” Otabek says once Yuri’s safely curled up on the sofa, tracing the curve of his cheekbone with a thumb until he looks up from the floor and gives a single nod. The kitchen is sparse but Otabek manages to find Earl Grey and some almond milk. In the reflection of the window, Otabek can see Yuri behind him, fingers knitted into Potya’s fur, until the steam of the kettle hits the window, and everything blurs.

“Here.” Otabek hands Yuri a mug with a tiger face printed on the front. His own bears the insignia of UAL, which is where he’s guessing Yuri got his degree from. The tea scalds the back of Otabek’s mouth as he takes his first sip, but it’s worth it, to have something close to consumable after hours of bad coffee. As he sits down, he nudges Yuri’s knee with his own. “Drink it.”

He does, but in his own time, still retaining his stubbornness even now. Potya meows for attention when Yuri wraps both of his hands around his mug, cradling it to his chest. After a few chirps, he obviously realises he’s not going to get the fuss he wants, and stalks off into the kitchen, bell tinkling with every step.

“I thought he was going to die.” It’s as if he’s admitting it to his tea, what with all the concentration he’s using to stare down into it. A single tear drips off of Yuri’s chin, splashing into his mug. With trembling hands, he brings it to his lips, like nothing even happened. “I thought he was  _ gone _ .”

“Yuri.” He shudders. “ _ Yuri _ .” He makes a choked sound in the back of his throat. “Yura.”

Otabek takes the tea away from him just in time, because the mug nearly slips from Yuri’s hands he’s shaking so bad. The only thing Otabek can think to do is pull Yuri into his arms, cradling him as if he were crafted from the most delicate materials, spider’s silk stitches and sugar glass skin.

“Yura,  _ Yura _ ,” Otabek hums, hoping to bring some semblance of comfort with the loving nickname. There aren’t any more tears, but his breathing is erratic, stuttering little gasps that sound like death rattles, and hiccups that shake his bones. “Yura, it’s okay. He’s okay. You’re okay.”

Yuri pulls away, beholding Otabek with wide, shiny eyes. Gold hair hangs limply around his face, the circles beneath his eyes purple and puce. He looks at Otabek with a kind of wonder, tilting his head ever so slighting so his curls spill over his cheeks. Otabek can’t help but touch, caressing his cool cheek, trying to smooth the marks of exhaustion away with a tender brush of his thumb.

And then Yuri’s kissing him. 

Yuri’s kissing him, and it’s all wrong. It’s desperate, not out of fervour, but hopelessness, leaving the taste of tears and the staleness of Yuri’s breath on his tongue. His body urges for him to kiss him back, to press in closer, and for a selfish, self-indulgent moment, he does, parting his lips to accept the first tentative swipe of Yuri’s tongue, and shifting so that their touches are longer, deeper. But then Yuri bites him, bites his lip the same way he’s been biting his own all night, and it’s like the heat in his veins is doused with ice water.

This time, it’s Otabek who’s shuddering.

“Otabek,” Yuri whines, going to kiss him again, but Otabek’s quicker, turns his head so Yuri’s lips graze his ear and  _ god  _ that feels good too, and then braces himself for the look of dejection he knows is going to be painted all over his face. “Don’t tell me you don’t want this. I know you do.”

“Yura, you’re upset,” Otabek says, and of course Yuri looks offended, glaring at him with narrowed eyes and jaw clenched. Sighing, he cups Yuri’s chin, rubbing his circles into the flickering muscle in his cheek. “I only want what you want, and I don’t think this is what you want right now.”

“But I need you.” He sounds so small, so pathetic, and it makes Otabek’s chest ache. “I really need you. Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m here, Yura,” he murmurs reassuringly, running his fingers through Yuri’s hair. He leans into the touch, eyes fluttering as he rubs his cheek against Otabek’s palm. “I’m not leaving you.”

He’s silent for a while, contemplative, eyes shut and lips thin in concentration. Gently, Otabek presses his lips to Yuri’s forehead, then rests them together. A final, shuddering breath leaves him and ghosts across Otabek’s face, and he feels more than sees him nod.

“Can we go to bed?” Otabek can’t help but stiffen beneath him. “Not- not like that. Just… to sleep.”

Otabek’s pulse flickers in his throat. “Okay.”

Yuri leads the way to his room. It’s dark, and a little dingy, covered in clothes and textbooks and too many cat beds. Potya’s curled up in none of them; instead he’s on top of Yuri’s unmade bed, amongst tiger stripe covers and mismatches socks. Sheepishly, Yuri brushes them all aside, picking up his cat and depositing him in a bed sat atop his desk. 

“I’m sorry it’s such a mess,” he mutters, taking off his jacket and beginning to work on the buttons of his shirt. Otabek gulps, mind filled with conflicting thoughts. He knows he should turn away, to give Yuri some privacy, but it’s so easy just to watch as his lean muscles are revealed, and then his lovely long legs in nothing but a tight pair of boxers.

Otabek wonders whether he chose them thinking they’d be for his eyes. It would have been nice, more than  _ nice _ , under any other circumstance.

“ _ Where the fuck are they _ ?” Yuri mutters as he rummages through the clutter on his floor, and this time Otabek has to look away, when Yuri’s beautiful ass is there, bent over, for him to see. Cheeks burning, he takes off his own jacket and folds it neatly on the bed, and then kicks off his biker boots, feet sighing in relief.

When he glances up, Yuri’s dragging his hair into a ponytail, dressed in fuzzy shorts and an oversized shirt that slips off his shoulder. A packet of cleansing wipes lie open on his bedside table, and he scrubs at his face whilst Otabek fumbles with his belt buckle, and then he too is wearing nothing but his underwear, and the v neck he wore under his shirt.

“I wish this was different,” Yuri muses sadly, giving Potya a final pet before crawling under the covers, opening his arms for Otabek to join him. Otabek can’t help but agree as he too gets under the duvet, surrounding himself with the raw, unfiltered scent of Yuri. It’s heaven on earth, and despite the day’s grievances Otabek feels blessed to be able to take Yuri into his arms, to kiss the collarbone spilling out of his shirt, the halo of gold hair on the top of his head.

“Me too,” he admits, and he’s met with silence. Their legs tangle together, and Yuri’s hands slip beneath the hem of Otabek’s shirt to splay across his back, and it’s everything he wants, everything he needs.

If only the time were right.

*

Waking up with hair in his mouth was never something Otabek thought would happen, but he’s happy that it does. Yuri’s still wrapped around his body, held securely in his arms, the slow rise and fall of his chest like a metronome lulling Otabek back into sleep. To spend forever in this room would be so easy, sharing the same warmth, the same air as the man he desired.

There are more  _ pressing _ issues at hand though, like his dick prodding at Yuri’s hip, and the deep rumble in his stomach indicating that his last meal was a day too long ago. Darkness swallows the room, but after extracting himself from Yuri’s hold, Otabek still manages to stumble to the door without treading on anything that feels too important. 

Jerking off in Yuri’s bathroom feels like he’s desecrating holy ground. It’s fast, a little furious and filled with thoughts of the photos on his phone sent in the bathtub he’s next to. He comes without feeling too much pleasure, more relieved that the building tension’s been released and won’t threaten to pop up when unwanted.

Potya glares at him knowingly when he opens the door.

Food is hard to come by when the kitchen is so poorly stocked, but Otabek manages to scrape together enough ingredients to at least make a couple of decent pancakes, even if they do kind of stick to the bottom of the frying pan. From the countertop, Potya keeps a watchful eye on him, tail flicking in distaste even he Otabek manages to find a packet of  _ Felix’s _ and spills a few treats onto the surface in front of him.

His tail flumes like a puff of angry smoke, but not even a cat as stubborn as his owner can resist picnic mix.

Otabek’s just managed to find a tray, and is piling it high with cutlery and condiments when Yuri stumbles into the room. Flushed and disorientated, his body visibly sags when he catches sight of Otabek, a sigh leaving his body like a lost spirit.

“I-” he swallows thickly, taking a few steps forwards. “I thought you’d left.”

Otabek glances down at his attire, and then back up at Yuri, with an amused smile twisting at his lips. “I said I wasn’t leaving.”

“I know that,” he declares, flushing pink to his roots and fussing with the sloppy mess that’s become of his hair. “I’m gonna go shower.”

“Your food will get cold,” Otabek says, but he’s already out of the room, a fluffy white shadow hot on his tail. 

He doesn’t mind, though. Really, he finds Yuri’s embarrassment rather sweet, and it’s definitely stroked his ego a fair amount. Shrugging, Otabek takes their food into the living room and flips through a back-issue of Vogue until Yuri appears again. 

Swamped in plush purple velvet, Yuri wanders back in a while later with a towel wrapped around his head wearing nothing but a dressing gown. Even now, when he’s worn and bare faced, Otabek thinks he’s the most beautiful person in the world. “I didn’t take you for an Anna Wintour kind of guy.”

“I’m not,” Otabek says, making room for Yuri to sit between his legs. He hesitates for a moment before settling in the space created for him, and then he leaves all restraint behind and fully relaxes back against Otabek’s chest. 

Oh, he could get used to this. 

They eat, and watch shitty reality television, and when Yuri’s hair is nearly dry, Otabek decorates it with little braids whilst Yuri browses social media on his phone. Over his shoulder, Yuri can see notifications coming through, from Mila and Ms Baranovskaya, and someone called Viktor who uses too many emojis in his messages for them to be comprehensible. Yuri simply sighs before answering them, baring his neck as Otabek nuzzles against it, a perfect target for him to mark with his mouth. 

“Mmmmm,” he hums, as Otabek grazes his teeth down the slender curve of his throat, bracing one hand on Otabek’s thigh and squeezing encouragingly. He continues his teasing with tongue and teeth, feather light presses and harder nicks of incisors, and by the time Yuri’s finished answering he’s positively squirming between Otabek’s legs. “Not fair.”

“Not fair?” He kisses the shell of Yuri’s ear. 

“Not fair,” he repeats, shifting so that he can look Otabek right in the eye, pupils blown wide.  _ Shit. _ He’d gotten carried away, lost in this moment of domesticity with Yuri, lost within his desire to touch and take what isn’t meant for him yet. Otabek moves back further, but Yuri’s hands are already upon him, on his arms, his shoulders, in the lengths of his hair. “I don’t want you to stop.”

“I think I should,” Otabek says, even if it’s the last thing he wants to do. 

Yuri pouts, and he must know how hard it is not to take that full lip between his own and  _ suck _ . “I’m not made of fucking  _ glass _ .”

“I know, Yura.” He’s built from hard work and determination, thick skin and a deadly tongue. Nothing about Yuri is weak, even in his darkest moments. He’s the perfect equilibrium of brawn and beauty, wit and wisdom, almost impenetrable. 

“Fine,” he admits defeat, but that doesn’t stop him from pressing closer into Otabek than he was before. 

He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

*

Hands deep in dirty dishwasher, Otabek feels arms wrap around him and a chin press into his shoulder. 

“Thank you,” Yuri murmurs, so close to Otabek’s ear his breath warms the skin of his lobe. “For everything.”

Otabek spins in the circle of Yuri’s arms and closes his eyes. If their lips meet, it’s only for a second, and Yuri’s gone before he has the chance to know. 

*

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“Yeah,” Yuri says. He’s holding his car keys in one hand and supplies for his grandfather in the other, and he’s dead set on going to the hospital by himself. 

Otabek nods, knowing he’s not going to be able to change his mind, but that doesn’t stop the worry line creasing his forehead. “You can call me. Anytime, Yuri, you know that.”

“Yeah,” he repeats, kissing the top of Potya’s head from where he’s sleeping on the sofa and following Otabek out the apartment door. Otabek places a hand on the small of Yuri’s back as the walk, and he looks up with a coy smile painted on his face in blushing pinks. “Thanks.”

Yuri’s car is a well-loved Mini Cooper, shiny red with animal print seat covers, of course. He watches as Yuri unlocks the door and gets in, the scent of his sickly sweet air freshener wafting out into the parking lot. When the door closes and the engine’s on, Yuri rolls down his window, turns down his heavy metal too. 

“When are we gonna talk about this?” he asks, sticking his head out the window.

They will. They need to, now that something has so tangibly changed. No longer can they call what’s between them friendship, because friends definitely don’t want to do what Otabek wants to do with Yuri. But they’re not together, either, not really, even if it hurts not to be. They’re in this awkward limbo in between, waiting for the right moment to jump to either side.

It’s okay, for now, Otabek thinks. After all, he wants what’s best for Yuri. A budding relationship on top of his work and what’s happening with his grandfather might just be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

“When we’re ready,” Otabek says after a while, stepping closer as Yuri’s face sours. He rests his hand on the crook of Yuri’s elbow resting on the door frame, and the notion seems to dwindle Yuri’s frustration. “You might think you are, but I don’t want any part of your judgment to be clouded. I  _ really _ like you, Yuri. I want you to like me for the right reasons too.”

They look at each other for a long while, before Yuri flushes and stares out of the windshield.

“Yura,” he mumbles under his breath, so softly Otabek almost doesn’t catch it.

“Huh?”

“You can call me Yura. Like before,” he tells Otabek, ducking his head so his hair hides his face. “I want you to call me Yura.”

“Okay, Yura,” Otabek says, and his cheeks are warming too. It feels as if Yuri’s offered a little piece of his heart for Otabek, to safely keep trapped behind his teeth and dancing on his tongue.  _ Yu-ra. _ His pulse sings the word back to him.“We’ll talk about it soon, I promise.”

“Okay,” he nods, and Otabek lets him move his elbow, to shift into reverse and glance over his shoulder. Their eyes meet one last time, and Yuri’s smile is enchanting.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, gently kissing Yuri’s forehead before letting him go. The window goes up, the music goes up higher, and Yuri’s speeding out of the car park with Otabek’s heart in the backseat.

*

**Yura** : Otcha  _ 22:12 _

**You** : No  _ 22:12 _

**Yura** : Otchik  _ 22:14 _

**You** : No  _ 22:15 _

**Yura** : Beks  _ 22:16 _

**You** : Definitely not  _ 22:16 _

**Yura** : Beshka  _ 22:18 _

**You** : Yes, if you want to sound like my mother  _ 22:19 _

**Yura** : Ew no  _ 22:20 _

**Yura** : Beka  _ 22:22 _

**You** : Beka  _ 22:22 _

**Yura** : Beka  _ 22:23 _

**Yura** : <3  _ 22:23 _

_ * _

“I really like him,” Otabek confesses to his ivy, filling up a small plastic watering can at the kitchen sink. The potted plant says nothing, of course, but Otabek likes to think that it can hear his lovesick woes. He’s been talking out his frustrations to his windowsill of flora for months now- they probably know the ins and outs of his relationship with Yuri than he does. 

“I really want to kiss him,” he muses as he begins to water, and he wonders, not for the first time that day, if he made the right decision. “I don’t want him to think I’m making his mind up.”

He contemplates as he picks off dead leaves, feeling them crumble between his fingers just like any of his thoughts do when he tries to grasp one. “I don’t want to take advantage of him, though. Not when he’s so emotionally vulnerable.”

He moves on to the cacti in his living room, the herbs in the dining room, the orchids in his bedroom sat amongst stacks of CDs, murmuring mostly to himself.  _ Should I have kissed him again?  _  Because they both wanted it. Otabek’s wants aren’t important, though, unless you count the want to keep Yuri safe.

Which he did, safe in his arms, where he so perfectly belongs.

“No.” He decides, back in his kitchen again. No matter how he imagines it, it was the right thing to do, to let him go. 

It won’t be for long, though. Otabek feels as certain of it as the stars that he can see blinking in the midnight sky.

“Good things happen to those who wait,” he murmurs, fingers gently tending the pale pink blooms of a cyclamen. When he pulls his hand away, one heart shaped petal lies in the palm of his hand.

If only Yuri could see him now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ zeldaismyhomegirl](http://zeldaismyhomegirl.tumblr.com/)  
> [ @ItsCatAvalon](http://twitter.com/ItsCatAvalon)  
>  Y'all know your girl's an angst queen, but I hope your hearts don't hurt too much
> 
> See y'all Wednesday
> 
> xoxo Cat


	4. Mesh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is a day (or two) late I have been so s t r e s s e d the past couple of days

As Monday’s go, it’s a pretty shitty one. Otabek has to drag himself out of bed a few hours before he really wants to so he can do the opening shift, showering and dressing monotonously and preparing himself for the brutality of normality. He stops for coffee at the only place open before seven am, and when he gets to the office, when everything is unlocked, lit up and the whirs of machines buzz through the walls, Otabek draws a wonky cat with a love heart nose on a post-it note stuck to the iced tea he bought Yuri. 

Yuri blushes when he sees, of course, as he’s so akin to do when anyone shows him kindness, but Otabek likes to think the way he buries his face in his hands is to hide his smile. All signs of exhaustion have been erased from his face, but Otabek’s not foolish enough to believe it’s through resting well. Flirty flicks of eyeliner frame his lashes, and his lips are the most brilliant shade of blood red. Hiding behind a mask of makeup and a flouncy bardot shirt that skims below his clavicle, but Otabek can see through it all.

Yuri catches him staring and rolls his eyes, scribbling something on his own post-it note before wandering over a pasting it on the knot of Otabek’s tie. It’s a drawing of what looks to be a cat in a taco shell, and beneath it, in his cursive script, Yuri has written  _ Lunch? _

They don’t get tacos, but they do walk to the burger joint which Otabek has begun to label as theirs. They sit on the same side of the booth, thighs pressed together and sharing from the same plate of chips and passing a bottle of coke between them. 

“Do you want to meet grandpa after work?” Yuri asks after their plates are clean, playing with Otabek’s fingers where their hands are clasped on top of Yuri’s thigh. “You don’t have to, I just thought-”

“Of course I do,” Otabek says, smiling softly down at Yuri’s ducked head. If anything, Otabek’s honoured that Yuri’s even asked. Knowing how important his grandfather is to him, it must be have taken a lot of nerve to work up the courage to ask, to even have the bravery to bring Otabek along. Their first conversation about him springs to the front of his mind- about wives to cook for- and wonders whether Yuri’s even out to his grandfather.

He doesn’t dwell on it, though. Right now, he’s the friend that Yuri needs. If (when, Otabek’s brain helpfully provides) in the future they do get together, it’s something he will discover then.

After work, they meet by the elevator. Yuri is even more nervous than he was at lunch, shifting his weight from one heeled foot to the other. He glances up when he sees Otabek’s polished Oxford’s stop before him, twisting a curl of blond hair between his fingers.

“Ready?” Otabek asks, calling for the lift. Yuri nods, and wraps an arm around Otabek’s waist, his hand disappearing into the back pocket of Otabek’s trousers.

Otabek likes that a  _ lot _ .

Yuri doesn’t cling to him so tightly as they ride this time, but Otabek still likes to touch his hands where they rest just above his belt buckle. One day, Otabek thinks, they’ll go for a ride, a long one, with no destination in mind. Freedom can be found on the back of a bike- that’s something Otabek wholeheartedly believes, and wants to share with Yuri too.

Otabek half expects Yuri to not want to take his hand, but he does, and they walk side by side through the building. Yuri leads them to a different ward than before, explaining shyly that Lilia’s paid for private treatment. “I don’t think I’ve told you how we’re related.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Otabek says, because to him, it doesn’t. But Yuri shrugs as they turn onto the cardiology ward.

“I know, but I don’t mind you knowing,” he says simply, stopping in front of a sanitisation unit. They cleanse their hands whilst he says, “She’s my grandmother’s sister- her much younger, half-sister.”

“So your great aunt?”

“Yeah, but don’t let her hear you say that,” Yuri laughs. “It makes her feel old, apparently.”

They stop at a final door, with a name slot that reads  _ Plisetsky _ , and Yuri doesn’t even knock before entering. 

“Yurochka,” a deep voice travels out the door, and Yuri’s left Otabek’s side and is rushing inside. Confliction flows through him as he hovers in the doorway. Does he follow? Wait until Yuri calls him? The last thing he wants is to interrupt any precious time between the two of them. “You know what they said yesterday, get your feet off my bed, you little punk.”

“I missed you, grandpa,” he hears Yuri say, and when he peers around the door frame, Yuri’s sat on the edge of his grandfather’s bed, holding his hand in both of his. A smile lights up his entire face, all teeth and crinkly eyes, and Otabek can’t help but smile too. “I brought someone with me.”

“You did, did you?” 

“Yeah,” Yuri says, leaning to try and find Otabek’s hiding place. “Beka?”

Hesitantly, Otabek walks into the room, closing the door behind him. Nikolai Plisetsky has the same effulgent green eyes as his grandson, and they’re narrowed directly at him, much in the same way Yuri had the first time they had met. “So you’re the man keeping my grandson on the straight and narrow?”

“Grandpa,” Yuri whines, wriggling in embarrassment as the tips of his ears flame. Nikolai continues to look Otabek up and down, taking in his leather jacket, his undercut, his posture, before finally nodding. For someone who suffered a heart attack days prior, he looks remarkably well, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“What, Yurochka? With the way you talk about him, you’d think that the sun shone out of his backside.” Now Beka’s blushing too, but he refuses to sink under the weight of the attention upon him. 

“It’s great to finally meet you, sir,” Otabek says, offering his hand and he steps forwards. “Yuri speaks very highly of you.”

“Does he now?” Yuri just groans, glaring at Otabek from underneath his eyelashes. “Well I hope he’s useful for more than just flattery. Did you bring me a pack of cards, boy?”

“Yes, grandpa,” Yuri mumbles, jimmying a box out of his back pocket, his jeans so tight Otabek wonders how he managed to fit them in there in the first place.

Nikolai’s face lights up as he flips the box between his fingers. “Who’s up for a game of cheat, then? Yurochka, you can deal.”

They spend a couple of hours playing (constantly losing. Yuri was right- Nikolai really does hand him his ass) and talking amongst themselves. It’s mostly Nikolai interrogating Otabek, asking about his education, his family- thankfully not his intentions. Otabek doesn’t know what he would have sputtered if  _ that _ particular question was aimed at him.

Yuri doesn’t take the hint when his grandfather starts yawning, increasing in volume and frequency until Nikolai just gives up and announces his exhaustion. 

“I’m still going to be here tomorrow,” he says when Yuri begins to frown.

“I know,” he says, stuffing the cards back into their packet. “I’m gonna go check in with your nurse before we go.”

“Don’t worry so much, Yurochka,” but Yuri’s already walking out of the room, leaving Otabek alone with a man he very much hopes may one day become his in-law. 

“Take care of him,” he says simply, smoothing his blankets around him. They don’t look at each other, but Otabek knows, somehow, he’s earned the man’s respect.

“Yes sir.”

*

**Yura** : I can’t open it  _ 18:23 _

**You** : Can’t open what?  _ 18:31 _

**Yura** : The announcement email. It came a couple of hours ago, but I can’t open it, Beka  _ 18:33 _

**You** : Want to forward it to me?  _ 18:35 _

**Yura** : Fuck. Yeah, fuck  _ 18:36 _

**Yura** : Break it to me gently though  _ 18:36 _

After giving him his address, Otabek receives an email from a one icepunktiger0103@hotmail.com.

**You** : Oh Yura  _ 18:43 _

**Yura** : What  _ 18:43 _

**Yura** : WHAT BEKA WHAT  _ 18:43 _

**You** : Yura I’m so sorry  _ 18:44 _

**You** : You’re gonna have so much extra work to do  _ 18:45 _

**Yura** : What  _ 18:45 _

**Yura** : Wait  _ 18:46 _

**Yura** : I got it?  _ 18:46 _

**You** : You got it  _ 18:47 _

**Yura** : You fucking asshole! You fucking stupid asshole! I hate you so fucking much right now, Fuck YOU!  _ 18:48 _

**You** : Congratulations, Yura  _ 18:49 _

**Yura** : I can’t believe. This can’t be real  _ 18:50 _

**You** : It’s real Yura. I told you you deserved it  _ 18:51 _

**Yura** : Thanks, Beka. Oh my fucking God  _ 18:52 _

**Yura** : I still fucking hate you though  _ 18:59 _

*

And just like that, everything becomes hectic again. With his newly appointed post of junior designer, Yuri’s busy once again, and everything rushes around them in a blur of colours and fabrics and samples, and moments in between where Yuri models designs in the living room of his apartment. Otabek likes those moments the most.

They manage to make time for each other, but their blossoming relationship is stunted. Remarkably, Otabek’s okay with that, more so than he thought he’d be. Yuri’s success and happiness is important to him, and watching him from the sidelines, seeing the fruits of his labour begin to grow into something beautiful, is just as great a reward as the little snippets of time they manage to steal together.

Otabek still leaves little things on Yuri’s desk. Cruelty-free face masks, packets of gum, cute little packages of sweets in wrappers the same colour as Yuri’s blushing cheeks. Even packets of cat treats for Potya, all of them garnished with a little note or message that he knows Yuri saves- they’re in the bottom drawer of his desk, pasted neatly on a piece of photo paper.

“You don’t have to leave me courting gifts,” Yuri complains at lunch, holding out the hair band Otabek had left wrapped around a cup of coffee this morning. It has a little cat head on it, and Otabek couldn’t resist.

“They remind me of you,” he answers simply, spinning Yuri by the shoulders and nimbly french braiding his hair. “And I like to see you smile.”

“You make me smile anyway, asshole,” Yuri mutters, the back of his neck creeping with heat. Otabek runs a finger from the top of his spine to his hairline, and Yuri shudders under the touch. “Let’s get lunch.”

They’re back in  _ their _ booth, in the furthest corner of the diner. The owner knows them by name now, and never looks surprised to see them walking in hand in hand. Yuri’s bare feet rest on Otabek’s knees, because apparently under the table massages is a service he offers now. Opposite him, Yuri’s head lulls back, half a chewed french fry hanging from his lips.

“Like that?” Otabek muses, running his nails over his dorsals. 

Yuri groans. “I don’t ever want you to stop. Lilia’s been making me drop off the official runway timetables all morning. In Jimmy Choo’s, Beka,” he adds, like Otabek’s supposed to know what that means. “Jimmy  _ fucking _ Choo’s.”

“Poor you,” he says good naturedly, but Yuri just rolls his eyes.

“You know how many offices this building has, how many floors. I’m dying,” Yuri whines, and then stuffs more chips into his mouth. “Anyway,” he says, mouthful full and muffled. “You’re making me forget why I asked you to come.”

“Oh, so my company isn’t enough for you?” Otabek retorts, raising his eyebrows.

“Of course it is, asshole,” Yuri says, digging his toes into Otabek’s stomach. “But I have something to give you. Grab my bag, won’t you?”

Otabek allows himself to be bossed, and reaches for the tan tote bag with a tiger’s head embroidered on the front. After digging around in it, Yuri pulls out a thick cream envelope.

Otabek’s name is printed on the front in gold.

“Open it, then,” Yuri says, dropping his feet from Otabek’s lap and leaning against the table eagerly.

“What if I-?” Otabek teases, but Yuri doesn’t even let him finish.

“Open it!” 

“Fine, fine,” Otabek laughs, and from over the top of the envelope he watches Yuri bounce in his seat.

He knows what it is. Really, there’s only one thing it can be, but it’s still so satisfying to pull the invitation out, to see Yuri’s name written in the list of featured designers, right beneath Ms Baranovskaya herself.

“You can bring a plus one if you want,” Yuri begins, reaching out to rest his fingers on Otabek’s wrist, “but I was hoping you’d be mine.”

“I’d be honoured,” Otabek says, smiling, because he is. Who else would he bring, anyway? There’s only one person he wants by his side, and he’s gazing at him across a dirty tabletop. 

“But you have to behave, because Grandpa is coming, too,” Yuri informs him. It’s been a month since his heart attack, a few weeks since Yuri’s stopped staying with him. Potya and his sewing machine had been packed up, and taken to the bungalow whilst Yuri kept an eye on his grandfather and by the end of their time together, the old man was practically chasing Yuri out of his house, walking stick waving madly in the air. “You’ll have to keep an eye on him.”

“Of course,” Otabek answers, even if the thought of entertaining Nikolai for an evening sends shivers down his spine.

*

Two weeks before the event, and Yuri becomes stressed again, rocking up to work in a variety of garishly printed leggings and oversized hoodies. For a few days, Otabek’s worried he’s going to get overwhelmed again, watching as he consults with other designers in what might as well be a different language to Otabek, he understands what anything means.

To his relief, though, Yuri’s the one who tells Otabek he needs a night off.

“ I just need a breather,” he admits. They haven’t made it out to their usual lunch spot for a while, and they’re currently sat in the canteen, holding hands for the world to see. Otabek likes knowing people can see them like this, together. He runs his thumb tenderly over Yuri’s knuckles. “So I called grandpa and told him we’re coming round for dinner.”

True to his word, come half past five Otabek’s standing outside of the Plisetsky bungalow, one hand on the small of Yuri’s back, the other nervously twisting his bike keys in his pocket. This, he thinks, feels more official than anything. It feels like Yuri’s bringing him home for the first time.

“I hope you’ve got an appetite, boy,” Nikolai says as he opens the door, dressed in slippers, a flour covered apron and a plaid cap. “I’ve got weeks of food to feed the two of you.”

He pinches Yuri’s cheek after he ducks to kiss his forehead, and claps Otabek’s shoulder with a powdery hand, and as soon as they’re over the fresh hold, the smell hits him. Onions, garlic, pastry, cloves. Yuri heads straight for the source of the scents, and Otabek follows behind after removing his shoes- and Nikolai wasn’t lying. Spread across the small kitchen table are bowls and dishes and plates piled high with fried food, soups, salads. Simultaneously Otabek’s mouth waters, and his stomach aches, at the thought of consuming it all.

“Did you make-” 

“Of course I made pirozhki, boy,” Nikolai grumbles to his grandson, shooing him out of the way as he trundles to the oven. Yuri’s eyes light up, and Otabek watches in fascination as he licks his lips. “Now go and set the table before you stick your mucky fingers in my goods.”

Together, Otabek and Yuri locate more plates and cutlery, making as much room as possible to squeeze in three place settings. From the pantry, Nikolai brandishes bottles of stout and pops the tops off without even asking if Otabek partakes.

Shrugging, he accepts the bottle offered to him.

“Go on, then,” Nikolai announces after he takes his seat to Yuri’s left. Otabek’s on his right, and beneath the table Yuri’s hand rests secretly on his knee. “Tuck in.”

By the end of the evening, Otabek’s left with a button popped on his trousers, and Yuri fast asleep against his shoulder where they’re curled up on the sofa. At first, he’s afraid to wrap an arm around him, what with Nikolai’s watchful gaze peering over at them from over his newspaper every few minutes, but when he finally gives in, all the old man does is mutter  _ took you long enough  _ under his breath whilst shaking his head.

So Otabek fully relaxes, draws Yuri closer to his chest, and doesn’t flinch when one of Yuri’s hands slides under his shirt. There’s some old documentary on the TV but Otabek’s been paying more attention to the gentle rise and fall of Yuri’s chest, to the soft little noises he makes in slumber, the way his eyes dart around underneath his pale lids. Dreaming, Otabek hopes. Dreaming of them, together, he hopes even more.

“Don’t go hurting him,” Nikolai comments, rustling his paper. Otabek glances up from where he’s been mesmerised by Yuri’s lip, moving soundlessly as he sleeps.

“I won’t,” Otabek promises, because it’s true. He’d do anything in his power to make Yuri happy, to keep him safe.

“Because I may seem like a frail old man,” Nikolai continues, pulling a pen from behind his ear and marking something down, “But I will always have enough strength to beat up anyone who hurts my Yurochka.”

Otabek doesn’t doubt him.

*

**Yura** : What are you wearing?  _ 20:19 _

**You** : Yura…  _ 20:22 _

**You** : Is this what I think it is?  _ 20:22 _

**Yura** : No, idiot. Tomorrow.  _ 20:23 _

**Yura** : I don’t have time for phone sex rn  _ 20:24 _

**You** : A suit, if it still fits. I think I’ve gained weight with all the food your grandpa’s been feeding us  _ 20:26 _

**Yura** : Yeah ikr  _ 20:27 _

**Yura** : Anyway  _ 20:27 _

**Yura** : Make sure it looks good  _ 20:27 _

**You** : Or what?  _ 20:28 _

**Yura** : Or I’ll have to strip it off and dress you myself (;  _ 20:29 _

*

In a blur of bright lights and the steady thrum of bass, Otabek sits front row with Nikolai Plisetsky by his side. He’s only seen Yuri in fleeting moments today, in between last minute adjustments and rehearsals. They’d caught each other as they’d arrived too, but Yuri only managed to give both him and his grandfather quick hugs before he was pulled away by something demanding his attention.

Now that the show has begun, Otabek is overwhelmed by the flash of camera bulbs, and the endless stream of models stalking the catwalk in designs of various complexities. He hasn’t recognised anything of Yuri’s yet, hasn’t heard his name announced over the loudspeaker either, but he catches glimpses of him behind the scenes, touching up makeup or crouching down, making quick fixes to his designs.

And then a model walks on wearing cheetah print, and Otabek just knows. It’s surreal, seeing designs he’s only caught glimpses of on paper coming to life before him. Faux fur coats, and leather harnesses and pants. Velvet and lace draped in chains and buckles. It’s all very Yuri, androgynous with his punk edge that Otabek adores. 

Then Yuri’s on the catwalk too, in just an emerald green faux fur coat and a pair of strappy harness suspenders, and now Otabek understands why Yuri’s told him to behave, because he longs to go to him, to mouth at every inch of exposed skin, to peel away his jacket and kiss his way up to the choker at Yuri’s throat. 

Beside him, Nikolai seems stiff with shock, eyes bulging as his grandson waves to his audience, searching them out before staring straight at Otabek.

And winking.

The only way he knows his heart hasn’t stopped in his chest is because of the sudden rush of blood flow heading south. Otabek shifts uncomfortably in his seat as Nikolai utters his grievances as the next set of designs begin to walk, but Otabek barely listens.

At the end, when all the contributors take their final walk, Yuri’s cheers are by far the loudest. On the other side of the catwalk, he can see a familiar red-head standing, whooping loudly. Otabek stands too, and helps Nikolai to his feet, as Yuri’s given a bouquet of pink and pearl roses.

By the time they finally get to see each other, Yuri’s already a little drunk, stumbling towards the two men who have occupied seats near the buffet table and have had a nice running commentary about which tipsy model was going to fall, or knock something over, first.

It appears it might be the one heading towards them.

“Beka!” Yuri slurs, launching himself into Otabek’s arms. He’s warm and clammy, champagne heavy on his breath as he nuzzles shamelessly against Otabek’s neck. Nikolai clears his throat.

“Yura,” he says, carefully drawing away. Yuri’s fingers have trailed up into his hair, tugging at his roots, tugging him closer again with a coy smile. 

“Yurochka, you mind your company,” Nikolai scolds, prodding Yuri’s knee with his stick. Sheepishly, he lets go and embraces his grandfather. He’s changed out of his runway clothes now, dressed in the same tight leather pants and mesh button down he was sporting earlier. “It was all very interesting.”

“You didn’t like it,” Yuri pouts, but Nikolai just laughs.

“I don’t like fashion! But I’m proud of you, my boy,” he says, ruffling Yuri’s already tousled curls. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to find the bathroom before some binge drinking youth decides to soil them.”

Alone together, Yuri wraps his arms around Otabek neck, pulling him closer until their foreheads rest together. “Beka.”

“I’m so very proud of you,” he says, thumbs rubbing small circles into Yuri’s waist. “You proved everyone wrong.”

“I know right?” Yuri throws his head back to laugh, and then rubs their noses together. “Vanessa can fucking suck it.”

“Vanessa?”

“You know, the bird girl, with the eyes.” He turns his fingers into circles to demonstrate, crossing his pupils, and Otabek can’t help but chuckle.“Even tonight she was fucking criticising everything. And do you know what I told her?”

“What did you tell her, Yura?” he amuses him.

“Fucking stay in your lane, bitch.” Yuri laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world, then drops his head to Otabek’s shoulder with a sigh. “God, I’m so fucking  _ relieved _ . I feel all weightless, like my bones are bubbly.”

“You,” Otabek begins, steering Yuri away from a waiter when he starts to reach for another glass of champagne. “Need to go home.”

There’s a heat at Otabek’s ear, the soft caress of Yuri’s breath, soon replaced with his mouth. “Only if you come with me.”

Shivering at the suggestion, Otabek’s hands tighten around Yuri. Lips press into his throat, his jaw, and he has to physically shake himself to stop himself from giving in, from kissing Yuri right here in the corner of a crowded room.

But he doesn’t want that. He wants home. Home, with Yuri. So with a quick peck to his temple, Otabek promises  _ later,  _ and takes Yuri by the hand in search of his grandfather.

Within minutes, they’re leaving, Otabek dragging a useless Yuri behind him whilst Nikolai marches sternly in front of them. Safely depositing Yuri in the back seat of his Mini, a sober Otabek takes the keys and drives to drop Nikolai off home. Yuri voices his goodbyes from the backseat, leaving Otabek to walk Nikolai to the front door.

“Don’t you go taking advantage of my Yurochka,” he warns, sticking his key in the lock. “But if you do, use protection.”

Even if he wanted to say anything, Otabek can’t his mouth is so dry. He manages a nod before walking back to the car. As he sits behind the wheel, Yuri’s head pokes between the seats.

“Why’re you so red, Beka?”

“It’s cold out,” he says through gritted teeth, watching as Yuri clambers through the gap and collapses into the passenger seat. 

He chews his lip for a moment, staring straight at him as he says,“You don’t get cold, though.”

Otabek’s hand tightens around the steering wheel. “Put your seatbelt on, Yura.”

Once he does, Yuri insists on holding his hand, which isn’t helpful when it comes to driving. In the end, he settles for squeezing Otabek’s thigh. During the duration of the ride, his hand creeps higher, and higher, and higher.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,”  Otabek says when Yuri’s fingers go too high for his brain to keep functioning properly.  _ You’re gonna be the death of me, literally,  _ he mutters under his breath when Yuri’s hand ghosts over his crotch, then back down to his thigh again. “Let me drive, Yura, please.”

“Beka,” he whines, and Otabek traps his hand against his knee.

“Yura.”

Somehow they make it safely to Yuri’s apartment block, and after locking up, Otabek wraps his arm securely around Yuri’s waist to stop him from falling in his platform heels. The elevator ride up to his floor is filled with fumbling hands and frustrated sighs as Yuri tries over and over to touch Otabek, to sneak his hands beneath his shirt, down the front of his pants, anywhere inappropriate he can remotely grab. After another scolding, he settles his hands on Otabek’s biceps, feeling the muscle beneath layers of clothes. His cheeks flush as he murmurs  _ big _ , and Otabek knows his are just as pink.

“Yura,” he warns, as Yuri’s hands move lower, eyes trailing down Otabek’s body as he tilts his head in consideration.  _ Big  _ he murmurs again, and Otabek can’t help but shudder. “Behave.”

“Or what? Are you gonna manhandle me? Show me your best bodyguard moves?” Yuri taunts, pinching Otabek’s arms and feigning jabs to his abdomen. “Come on then, big man, show me what you’ve got.”

What Otabek  _ has _ got is the patience of a saint, because it’d be so easy to give in to both of their desires, pin Yuri against the wall and take his breath away. But he doesn’t. Instead, he holds Yuri’s hands in his, where they’re safe from their eager explorations, and leads them out of the elevator towards Yuri’s apartment.

When they finally make it to the front door, Yuri grins wickedly up at Otabek, running his fingers over the collar of his shirt as he backs Otabek up against the wood. Taking a few staggering steps closer, Yuri grabs Otabek’s tie, tugging until Otabek has no choice but to lean in closer, to feel Yuri’s breath fan over his skin.

“Nice tie,”  he murmurs, low and luring. The words brush over Otabek’s lips, and he shudders.

“Yura,” Beka holds him, holds him close to his body, like he always wants to, with his fingers hooked in his belt loops. There are mere millimetres between their mouths.“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not,” he says stubbornly, shaking his head like a petulant child. “I’m not, and I want this. I want you.”

“Yura,” he murmurs again, and it’s so wrong, to do this when he’s so obviously is drunk, but he leans in those final few millimetres and they’re kissing, clinging to one another as their mouths move against each other. Yuri is intoxicating, the taste of champagne heavy on his tongue, and it’s enough to make Otabek’s head buzz, consumed with thoughts of Yura, only Yura, moving against him, grinding their hips together as his hot tongue slips between Otabek’s teeth.

They break apart only for a moment so Yuri can fumble with the key and push them over the threshold, but Otabek’s lips never leave his skin. He sucks a trail down the elegant column of his throat, consuming the moans that vibrate in underneath his skin. The door shuts behind them, and Yuri’s lips return to his, and he’s pushing at his blazer, shoving it down his arms and working on the buttons of Otabek’s shirt without missing a beat.

“Yura,” Otabek groans, and they’re falling onto the sofa, and everything is hot and heavy. Hands wander and lips trail over every bit of exposed skin, and Otabek’s blood feels like liquid flames in his veins. Yuri’s straddling him. Yuri’s straddling and rolling their hips together, and scraping his nails down Otabek’s bare chest, red ridges raising over his skin, and it feels amazing. Yuri feels amazing, Yuri tastes amazing, Yuri sounds amazing as a breathy moan leaves his throat when Otabek’s thumbs graze over his nipples.

“Beka,” he gasps, rocking down into him, and Otabek can see his erection straining in his pants, can feel his own pressing into the curve of Yuri’s ass. Yuri leans down and kisses him again, this time slower, building in intensity, timing the rolls of his hips with the hot strokes of his tongue and  _ shit,  _ Otabek’s going to come like this, come in his pants like a horny teenager if this doesn’t stop.

And it should stop, even if he hates to admit it. The last thing Otabek wants is for their first time together to be drunk, dirty and dizzy. He wants it soft, sensual, slow, wants to take his time taking Yuri apart, wants to feel something more than just a rush of endorphins.

Wants to show Yuri his love.

“Yura,” he murmurs against his lips, grabbing the hand that’s fumbling at his fly. The tips of Yuri’s finger graze his aching dick, but he leads them away, kisses the soft skin of the back of his wrist and Yuri gazes down at him, eyes blown wide and lips full and swollen.

“I like you.” Yuri pants, ducking to rest their foreheads together. “I really  _ really _ like you.”

“I like you too,” Beka assures him, and pulls Yuri so he’s lying on his chest. Tenderly, he kisses the tops of Yuri’s cheekbones, the paper thin skin of his fluttering eyelids, the tip of his nose. “And it’s because I like you that I want to slow things down.”  He gently brushes his thumb down Yuri’s cheek, smoothes it over his lips. “Okay?”

Yuri nods after a few moments of contemplating, rolling so he’s lying next to Otabek on his side. “We can still make out though, right?”

After a few seconds of faux deliberation, Otabek leans in for a long, lingering kiss. “Definitely.”

*

**Yura** <3: You left your tie here  _ 11:32 _

**Yura** <3: I’m gonna burn it  _ 11:32 _

**You** : Don’t do that  _ 11:41 _

**Yura** <3: Well, I guess I can just use it as a cat toy for Potya  _ 11:45 _

**You** : Yura please  _ 11:46 _

**Yura** <3: Or I could just wear it myself?  _ 11:47 _

**You** _ :  _ Yura, please  _ 11:48 _

img.043893243

It’s a mirror shot, and Yuri’s nearly nude. He sits back on folded legs with one arm between his legs, concealing himself, and the other holding his phone. Otabek’s tie hangs loosely around his neck. His neck, with lemon and lilac love bites in the shape of Otabek’s mouth mottling his skin. An open shirt hangs around his frame, revealing his pretty pink nipples, the taut toned muscles of his stomach, the carnal cut of his hip bone. 

He can feel the ghost of Yuri’s lips running over his skin.

**Yura** <3: It looks good on me, don’t you think?  _ 11:53 _

_ Yeah _ , Otabek thinks, long after come has dried to his stomach.  _ It really fucking does _ .

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm sorry this is late. I just needed a few days to myself to get myself back in check! 
> 
> The next chapter will be up asap- probably not Sunday but I might surprise y'all!
> 
> Thank you for all of your lovely comments- I haven't gotten around to them yet but I've read them all and love them and just know that I appreciate all of y'all 
> 
> [ zeldaismyhomegirl](http://zeldaismyhomegirl.tumblr.com/)  
> [ @ItsCatAvalon](http://twitter.com/ItsCatAvalon)  
> See y'all soon
> 
> xoxo Cat
> 
> (p.s i'm using 4g to upload this so if something shit happens i'm sorry, i'll fix it asap)


	5. Silk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pokes head around corner* consistent upload schedule who?

Otabek wasn’t expecting his birthday to be anything but ordinary, but then Yuri walks into the office.

Yuri walks in, and he’s dressed in thigh high boots, cat ears, and a long fluffy tail.

It might just be the best day of Otabek’s life.

Other employees are dressed up to, but they pale in comparison to the feisty kitten that’s furiously writing notes whilst playing with his tail in his other hand. There are more than a few angels, various ‘underdressed’ version of nurses and maids, even someone walking around in a full-on corpse bride dress, but no one looks better than Yuri- he can hear the whispers circulating through the workroom agreeing with him too.

Otabek _knows_ it’s the best day of his life when Yuri drags him into a storage closet on the way back from lunch.

“Nice tie,” he says with a smirk, flicking the light on. Otabek glances down- it’s purple, with little black bats on it. Even the security is allowed to get into the spooky spirit.

“Nice tail,” he retaliates, and Yuri’s smirk deepens, and he takes a step forwards to graze his teeth down Otabek’s ear.

“You’ll never believe where it’s attached.”

“Yura,” Otabek groans, dipping his head and pressing his lips into the crook of his neck. Yuri’s arms come around him, and then they’re kissing. Not hot and heavy like you’d think they’d be in a closet, but slow and sweet, soft swipes of the tongue and barely-there bites of the lip.

“I wanna show you something,” Yuri murmurs when they break apart, lips swollen and glossy. Otabek traces the swell of his cupid’s bow with his thumbnail.

“I don’t think my heart’s ready to see where that tail starts, Yura,” Otabek says, reaching behind him and twirling the fur between his fingers.

“Not that, idiot,” he says, rolling his eyes as he slaps Beka on the chest. Yuri’s cheeks are flaming, and Otabek kisses them, feeling the heat beneath his lips. “This.”

On the shelf behind him, there’s a small black box, and Yuri takes it between his hands, eyes softening as he watches Otabek’s expression flicker from confusion to realisation. Obviously, he’d been planning this all along.

“It’s only small but-” he stops himself, glancing down at the floor. “Happy Birthday, Beka.”

He shoves the box into Otabek’s awaiting hands, and Otabek simply runs his fingers over the packaging, wondering how on earth Yuri even knew. When Yuri nudges him with his foot, Otabek opens it up, peeling away layers of tissue paper until he discovers what’s nestled inside.

A sea-green tie, the colour of Yuri’s eyes.

“Did you make this?” Otabek asks, pulling it out and smoothing his fingers over the fabric. On the inside is a logo, YP in gold stitching.

“Yeah.” Yuri nimbly unties Otabek’s bat tie and exchanges it for the other. “It’s about time you replaced your old one.”

“I love it.” _I love you_ , he thinks, but he keeps those words behind his teeth-for now.“Thank you, Yura.”

Yuri’s hands are braced on Otabek’s chest, and he leans down and kisses him on the mouth, and then his chin, and the bridge of his nose, and Otabek marvels at the sweetness of it.

“There’s another thing.” Yuri looks bashful, hands coming to rest at Beka’s neck. They’re still pressed together, Otabek can feel every hard line, every soft curve of Yuri’s body. “I want to introduce you to grandpa as my boyfriend.”

“Are you asking..?” Otabek drifts off, the widest smile spreading across his face.

“Yeah.” Yuri ducks his head for a moment, bites his lip before saying, “Otabek Altin, I want to be your boyfriend.”

As birthday’s go, it’s not too bad.

*

To his credit, Nikolai tries to act surprised when they visit him after work and announce the news. He slaps Otabek on the back, and hugs Yuri, lamenting about how his young grandson is finally growing up, becoming a fine young man, teasing him for _taking so long to make a gooddamn move_.

Otabek wonders just what Yuri used to say about him to his grandfather.

Then the baby photos come out. _I’ve been waiting for this day for twenty two years!_ Nikolai had mused, lugging a cardboard box filled with albums and frames to the coffee table. _Yurochka’s never brought anyone home before, and there are some absolute gems in here._

And there is. Otabek’s favourites, in no particular order, are: Yuri in the bathtub, with a foam beard and chubby arms cradling a rubber duck. In ice skates, grabbing onto the hand of a blond woman he assumes to be his mother with a look of absolute fright carved upon his face. Gap-toothed and beaming as he sits on his grandfather’s lap. With a bowl haircut, pouting the same way he still does today.

He’s doing it now, arms crossed as he glares at him over a picture of baby Potya. “Having fun, are we?”

“Yes, actually,” Otabek answers, happily accepting the picture of Yuri smeared in chocolate, all over his skin and streaked in his fine hair.

“Good.”

After cups of tea, they’re sent on their way to Yuri’s apartment with a bagful of pirozhki and happy smiles. A photo of a teenage Yuri holding a tiny white fluffball of a kitten burns a hole in his blazer.

Making out on Yuri’s sofa seems to be their thing now, and that’s what they find themselves doing as soon as they step through the door. After hours of having to keep his hands to himself, Otabek’s happy to let them roam of Yuri’s skin, dragging his nails down the plains of his back until Yuri’s arching into him, gasping into Otabek’s mouth

“You’re distracting me,” he whines, biting at Otabek’s neck. “I’m trying to give you the best birthday ever, here.”

“Believe me, you are,” Otabek murmurs, shivering as Yuri licks a hot line up his throat to his jaw, and then nips at the lobe of his ear. “Yura.”

“I had _plans,_ Beka, and you’re ruining them with your fucking hands on my body and- oh _god_ ,” he moans as Otabek rolls their hips together. “I’m trying to be a good boyfriend here.”

“Boyfriend,” Otabek tries out, fanning his fingers through Yuri’s hair. Yuri kisses the word from his mouth. “You don’t know how much I like that.”

“Oh I think I do,” Yuri says, trailing a hand between their bodies and rubbing over Otabek’s hardening erection, and he can’t help the growl that claws out of his throat.

“Yura.” He tugs at Yuri’s hair until green eyes are gazing down at him, pupils blown so wide they nearly eclipse the iris.

“My boyfriend,” he says slowly, emphasising each syllable. Otabek tugs him back down, capturing his lips with his own as the words pump through his veins and gather at his groin. “Mine.”

“Mine,” Otabek repeats, biting Yuri’s lower lip.

“Let me spoil you tonight,” Yuri asks when they slow things down, tracing the shape of Otabek’s brow. “I wanna look after you like you look after me.”

“Tell me what you’ll do.”

“Well, I bought ingredients for dinner _.”_  Yuri’s finger circles his mouth now. “I was gonna wine and dine you, but I think the order of events has got mixed up.”

“Impress me, then, Plisetsky,” Otabek challenges, biting at Yuri’s knuckle. “Show me what you’ve got.”

They end up in the kitchen, where Otabek watches Yuri at the stove, tie loose and shirt unbuttoned as he drinks from a glass of wine. Yuri’s long discarded his cat costume- Otabek dreads to imagine the look on Nikolai’s face if he’d seen _that_ particular get up- and is wearing a simple sweater dress and an apron. It all feels very domestic, Yuri wandering over for the occasional red wine kiss, and swaying his hips to the soft piano playlist he’s put on over the speakers. It’s a contrast to how they were minutes before, and it’s one Otabek admires. He wants all of Yuri, all speeds, all sweetnesses, even the slow bitter moments in between.

He never wants to let him go.

“You’re clingy today,” Yuri hums when Otabek wraps his arms around him from behind. He happily bares his neck for Otabek’s tender kisses, resting a hand where Otabek’s are linked over his stomach. “I won’t be too long.”

“You’re so beautiful, Yura,” Otabek says, because he can, watching in amusement as Yuri’s spoon clatters against the stovetop, neck flushing pink. “So, so beautiful.”

“Stop that,”  he scolds, turning around in Otabek’s arms. Otabek can’t help but peck the tip of Yuri’s nose until he’s giggling. “Sit back down, asshole, and stop bothering me.”

After one last lingering kiss, Otabek does what he’s told, scooping a mewling Potya in his arms and cradling him to his chest as a (slightly) less grouchy replacement. A few minutes later, the cat is purring against Otabek’s chest, kneading him with razor-sharp claws as Yuri drifts over to set the table, kissing the top of the cat’s- and Otabek’s- head as he does.

“It’s not much,” Yuri says, ladling steaming sauce over a bed of boiled rice. “Just Stroganoff, but it was the first thing after pirozhki Grandpa taught me to cook.”

Potya jumps away from Otabek’s chest and pads over to the food bowl Yuri’s just filled up, bell jingling against the metal as he begins to eat. Two bowls appear on the table, and Yuri’s sitting down next to him, resting his hand on Otabek’s thigh as he reaches for the half-empty bottle of wine and pours some into his own glass. Gently, Otabek laces their fingers together, and once Yuri’s settled, he brings them to his lips, brushing his knuckles with his mouth. “Thank you.”

“Thank me after you eat, idiot. It might be disgusting,” Yuri retorts, but his cheeks are stained pink, just like his lips, and he shudders when strokes the rosy blush blossoming on his skin, as he tucks blond hair behind his ear and trails his fingers down the slender column of Yuri’s throat.

“I’m sure it’s delicious,” Otabek says- and it’s is, not that he’s surprised. Yuri is a man of many talents, and Otabek has yet to find something he can’t do well. It’s probably his sheer determination, his strength, persevering to do anything and everything, and Otabek finds himself falling even deeper in love with every bite that passes his lip, every sip of sweet wine, every laugh that bubbles from Yuri’s mouth and inspirits his sharp features. Yuri looks so soft, so alive with warmth, next to him, smiling gingerly in the light of Otabek’s attention, in the gentle glow of the tea lights he lit before he sat down.

“Thank you,” Otabek says again after their bowls are empty, after everything has been cleaned away and they’re standing in the kitchen with damp hands and damp clothes, because they couldn’t keep their fingers to themselves for the minutes it took to do the washing up. Yuri simply hums, touches Otabek’s wrist before he wanders into the living room, glancing over his shoulder and raising a single brow to encourage Otabek to do the same.

He’s bending over lighting more candles when Otabek follows, and he knows he shouldn’t look, but he can just see a strip of lace peeking out from under the hem of Yuri’s sweater. Swallowing hard, he crosses the distance between them, crosses his heart as he gently holds Yuri waist and kisses the shell of his ear, because he’d rather die than let him go.

“Dance with me,” Yuri murmurs once he’s standing, turning around in Otabek’s arms and placing his hands on his chest. Beneath Yuri’s palm, Otabek’s heart stutters in his chest, stops completely when Yuri presses a leg between his and trails his hands upwards to link them behind his neck. They’re so close Otabek can feel Yuri’s own pulse, beating in time with his, can feel the sensual stir of his breath skimming the skin exposed by the open top buttons of his shirt.

They begin to sway, hips moving against each other and Yuri’s head resting on Otabek’s shoulder. There’s something to so intimate, so erotic, about slow dancing by themselves, slowly swirling around the room and exchanging long, lingering kisses as their hands explore and their breath mingles together. Yuri keeps glancing up at him with these heavy-lidded doe eyes that makes Otabek’s lungs ache, touching his jaw, his cheek, as he murmurs along to sentimental refrains of true love. And Otabek sings along too, tasting the sweet words on Yuri’s tongue and whispering them in his ear just to hear the breathy little gasp that catches in his throat, to feel his fingers tightening in Otabek’s hair.

“Have you had a good day?” Yuri asks long after the music’s ended. They’re still swaying in the middle of the room, to the beat of their own hearts.

“The best.”

“Good.” Yuri draws away to blow out the tea lights, and the room slowly blinks into darkness. A kiss is pressed to his cheek, and then Yuri’s taking him by the hand, leading him down the hall and into the bedroom. They fall onto the bed together, limbs tangled as they kiss and kiss and kiss, slowly peeling each other’s clothing off, taking each other apart.

Nudity is beautiful on Yuri, all soft gold and cream, velvet skin and silken hair, and splashes of baby pink on his chest, the flushed head of his pretty dick. Otabek kisses every freckle, every mole, the tattoo he’s caught glimpses of but never seen just beneath the dip of Yuri’s armpit. A small tiger’s head that matches his wild heart.

And he makes the best noises, breathy gasps and little trapped moans whenever Otabek does something he likes, whenever Yuri touches him in a way that makes him shudder beneath him, and Otabek consumes them all through touch and taste. His name has never sounded so sensual. _Beka,_  caught on a moan and dragged out between gritted teeth as Otabek kisses his way up Yuri’s body, his collar, his jaw, biting marks of his affection into pale skin and bruising it red with undying passion.

“Yura,” Otabek gasps when he wraps his hand around them, the velvet drag of Yuri against him too much, too real, as he strokes them in tandem. Yuri keens softly, biting Otabek’s lip as his hand joins his, and slowly they move against each other, panting into each other’s mouth, kissing hot and messy. Beneath him, Yuri’s hips start to stutter, a warning moan caught in his throat as he clings to Otabek’s back, nails sharp as they scratch into his skin, an intoxicating contrast to the pleasure that buzzes through Otabek’s veins.

“Be-ka,” he sighs, biting into his shoulder, and he’s coming between them, spilling over Otabek’s fist and smearing across their abdomens. The slickness of Yuri’s release on his already throbbing dick is too much for him, and Otabek soon follows, groaning into Yuri’s hair as he comes. When he catches his breath, Otabek pulls Yuri to his chest, smoothing away the goosebumps that have arisen on his arms and nuzzling at his cheek with his nose.

They lie like that for a while, Yuri drawing invisible patterns on his chest whilst Otabek simply looks, really looks, at him- at _them_ , together. He feels his pulse pick up, and Yuri must feel it too, because he looks up at him with a dream-like softness and eyes filled with stars, and smiles.

“I love you,” Yuri sighs, reaching up to touch Otabek’s cheek. Warmth spreads through his chest, spreads through his veins like the heat of a thousand suns, and Otabek’s never felt anything like this. _Love_. Fiery and passionate, but with a tender core. Just like his Yura.

“I love you, too.”

*

“What’s that behind you, Beshka?” Imira asks, peering at him as if she could see through the screen, through _him,_ to what- or who- lies behind him.

 _Oh god_. He shouldn’t have answered.

It’s lunchtime in Almaty- he can see Aidana standing at the stove, stirring the contents of his mother’s metal crock pot- whilst it’s only a few hours after dawn in England. He’s still in bed.  _Yuri’s_ still in bed, curled up behind him, making soft sounds of slumber that make Otabek’s heart melt.

Imira’s eyes narrow, eyebrows furrowed in a familiar expression he’s caught on himself too many times. _Scrutinising_. “Wait, that’s not your-”

“Beka,” Yuri mumbles, rolling over on the mattress and burying his face into the back of Otabek’s shirt. His warm breath hits Otabek’s bare skin, and he can’t help but shiver as Yuri’s face smushes into his spine. “Whatya doin’?”

Oh.

 _No_.

A high pitch squeal breaks through the phone speaker, and then there are two figures battling over a phone thousands of miles away, but they might as well be squabbling in Yuri’s bedroom by how incriminated he feels. Grunting, Yuri peers over Otabek’s shoulder, blond hair falling over the two of them, and stares at the phone still grasped in his hand before groaning. Otabek would groan too if he wasn’t so startled; he can see the image of the two of them, trapped in the lower corner of the screen. Yuri, half-naked and beautiful, coiled around Otabek like a serpent and nuzzling at the bite marks on his throat.

“Shall we call you back, baby brother?” Aidana croons as Yuri continues to complain, sticking his cold hands under Otabek’s shirt and making him jolt back into reality. “It looks like we’re interrupting something.”

“Yeah, you are,” Yuri grumbles. He squeezes Otabek’s waist before sneaking out a hand and crassly hanging up the call.

“Yura,” Otabek complains, even when soft lips kiss the back of his neck. “They’re my sisters.”

“Yeah, well they’re ruining my morning after,” Yuri hums, biting into the juncture of his shoulder, eliciting a gasp from Otabek’s throat.“Call them back later.”

“B-but-” Otabek stammers before stopping himself, wanting anything but to sound like he’s _whining_. Yuri smirks and moves so that he’s straddling him, smoothing his hands over Otabek’s chest and bending down to bite his lower lip.

“But what, Otabek Altin?” Yuri taunts, then nips at his mouth again. It’s only when Otabek doesn’t respond to his advances that Yuri sits back on his heels, gazing down at him with intense, emerald eyes. Gently, he brushes disorient curls from Otabek’s forehead, runs the tips of his fingers over his cheekbones before smoothing them over the warmth that has blossomed in his cheeks. “Hey, are you embarrassed?”

“No. Not of you,” Otabek says unabashedly, moving his hands to cup Yuri’s hips. His thumbs sneak under the hem of his shirt and rub small circles into his silken skin. Exhaling deeply, he takes his time to sort out his thoughts- unease, apprehension, _Yuri Yuri Yuri_ \- before he speaks again. “I’ve just never introduced them to anyone before.”

“Do you want to introduce me?” Yuri asks, tilting his head so that his hair spills over his shoulder. Otabek reaches out and runs his fingers through fields of gold, and Yuri leans into his touch, leans closer still until their foreheads are resting together, their breath ghosting over each other’s lips.

“Of course,” Otabek murmurs, drawing Yuri impossibly closer by his hair and giving him a long, lingering kiss. “You’re my boyfriend.”

“Say it again.” Yuri’s pupils are blown wide, and he gently rolls his hips down into Otabek’s to make his arousal known.

“Boyfriend,” Otabek breathes, punctuating each syllable with a peck on the lips. “Mine.”

“Yours,” Yuri says, shuddering, running a hand between them and down to Otabek’s stirring dick. He groans softly as Yuri strokes him once, _twice_ , before moving his touch back up to his chest, nails digging into his pectoral as he says, “But we probably shouldn’t keep your family waiting.”

*

To their credit, Otabek’s sisters do manage to (barely) contain themselves as he introduces them to Yuri. They don’t, however, when he busts out the big _B_ word.

“Boyfriend!” They exclaim in unison, and Yuri looks like he wants to bury himself under his duvet and never emerge. Two pink ears stick out from the halo of gold poking over the top of the blankets, soon disappearing again when Otabek’s sisters start up again.

“Oh my gosh-”

“I can’t believe-”

They talk over one another. Then stop. _Then_ look at each other before they squeal together and wave their arms around, speaking in rapid Kazakh that Otabek knows Yuri isn’t going to understand. Slowly lifting his head, Yuri blinks up at him, cheeks pretty, pink and seemingly sheepish,  and Otabek can’t help but drop a kiss to the top of his head. Yuri makes a small, protesting sound in the back of his throat, but doesn’t resist when Otabek shifts to kiss him sweetly on the lips.

“Yuri, this is Aidana and Imira,” Otabek says smoothly, even though his heart is flickering in his throat. For a while, they go through the monotonous formality of introductions, Yuri gradually coming out of his shell and shifting so he’s pressed tightly against Otabek’s side. Beneath the duvet, Yuri’s fingers hold Otabek’s in a death grip- it hadn’t even occurred to him that Yuri would be scared too, and a wave of guilt rolls through him at the thought of forcing Yuri into something he isn’t ready for.

But soon the grip relaxes, and Yuri’s playing with his fingers rather than crushing them as he talks about social media with his sisters, the three of them exchanging various handles and poking fun at Beka for his bare excuse of an Instagram.

“I’ve never really had anything interesting to share,” he says simply, and Yuri simply snorts at him.

“Um, your bike? Your incredible tie collection? Yourself?” He glances down, biting his lip before he says, “Me?”

“You have enough of yourself on your account,” Aidana says, scrolling through her phone with Imira peering over her shoulder. ‘You’re like some kind of model, holy shit.”

“Designer,” Yuri corrects them, and Otabek can’t help but swell with pride. “But yeah, sometimes I model my own designs too.”

“These are your own designs?” Imira exclaims, and that sends them off again, obsessing over Yuri’s talent and dowsing him in compliments. Otabek can’t help but agree, but he does it silently, squeezing Yuri’s thigh beneath the duvet and pressing a kiss to his temple.

They talk for a few more minutes before his sisters let them go. After the call is hung up, the room fills with an eerie kind of silence that feels fuzzy and swollen with static- that is until Yuri starts laughing, vibrating against Otabek’s side.

“What?” Otabek says, baffled. Yuri uses his shirt to wipe at his eyes before tugging it off entirely, lying gloriously naked next to Otabek, flushed pink with laughter.

“I’m just so fucking _relieved_ ,” he admits, yanking at the hem of Otabek’s own shirt and encouraging him to take it off.

“Relieved?” Otabek asks, pulling Yuri back onto his chest, their bare skin pressing together.

“Yeah,” Yuri says, fingers trailing up and down Otabek’s chest, circling around his nipple before brushing against the bud lightly. “I haven’t exactly been introduced to anyone before.”

“Was it alright?”

“Yeah,” Yuri says quietly. He’s still for a moment, but then he’s clearing his throat and saying _Yeah_ again, with confidence this time. “Although I think it’s time to introduce ourselves to the world.”

Yuri finds his phone somewhere in the waves of bed sheets and opens up his camera. He flips it so that the two of them come into view, Yuri pale and pretty against the burnished bronze of Otabek’s chest. It’s still a little foreign to Otabek, seeing the two of them reflected in such intimacy. It feels more real, if that’s even possible, observing it with his own eyes rather than them never leaving Yuri- not that they ever do for long. Before Otabek can grasp what’s happening, Yuri leans down and kisses him, hot and heady and full of the fire that Otabek fell in love with. His hands find purchase on Yuri’s back, his ass, his thighs, holding him closer as his skin blisters with heat.

“That should do it,” Yuri murmurs, voice thick and husky. There’s a wildness to his eyes as he examines his phone, simmering into something sensuous, and a sly smile creeps across his face. “What do you think?”

Otabek can’t think, that’s the problem, staring with his mouth agape at the image of the two of them. It’s possessive, provocative, quite unlike any image Otabek has ever seen of him. Yuri holds down his finger on the photo, and they come alive, mouths moving against each other, hands treacherously trailing.

“I think you like it,” Yuri says, amused, hand moving to cup Otabek’s dick, half hard against his thigh.

“I do.” Thoughts of his sisters, his parents, his _grandmother_ seeing that image flood his mind. “You absolutely cannot post it.”

Yuri pouts, pressing it into Otabek’s jaw. “Please?”

“Yura, you can see my dick.”

“I certainly can,” he says with a smirk, and of course Yuri’s in this kind of mood now. Impish and airy, pressing his lips down Otabek’s body until his mouth hovers dangerously close to his erection. “I like the view from down here, too.”

A tentative lick, and then Yuri’s taking the head into his mouth, suckling softly whilst Otabek’s brain sparks and ignites. It only lasts a few moments before Yuri’s pulling away, a devilish quirk to his lips as he looks at his phone.

“What about this one?” Yuri asks, and Otabek can only look at the screen for a second before he’s trembling with _want._

“Yura,” he chides, because he can’t believe something so filthy exists. “Delete it.”

“I think I’ll keep it for my personal collection,” Yuri smirks, tossing his phone somewhere in the dishevelled covers. He gazes up at Otabek for a moment, cheek resting against his thigh, before he wraps a hand around Otabek’s dick and slowly pumps. His expression could be considered angelic if it weren’t for the hunger burning in his gaze, a small smile on his lips, gold hair fanning around his sleep softened features.

Otabek runs his fingers over Yuri’s cheekbones, the fine slant of his nose, before he furrows them deep into Yuri’s roots. Humming beneath Otabek’s touch, Yuri strokes him languidly for a few more moments before leaning to take him into his mouth again. He lasts an embarrassingly short amount of time, Yuri’s wet mouth too hot, too tight around his sensitive length. It pleasantly surprises him when Yuri manages to take most of him, deep into the back of his throat, the slick sounds devastatingly dirty, and the little hums Yuri makes around are him enough to make him lose control.

Otabek utters out a warning, but Yuri pulls off him with a lewd smack, resting his leaking head against his puffy lips and completing Otabek with just his hand. The first shot of come splatters over his awaiting tongue, and Yuri milks him through his orgasm until it’s dripping down his chin and over his fingers too. With a devilish smile, Yuri lets Otabek’s softening dick drop against his thigh as he wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, tongue darting out to collect what missed his mouth.

For a few seconds, Otabek can only stare at him in wonder because holy _shit,_ what did he do in a past life to get such a beautiful, brazen, _brillant_ boyfriend? Yuri continues to clean himself up, and once Otabek gets over himself, he tenderly runs his fingers through Yuri’s hair, waiting for Yuri to glance back up at him with soft eyes to murmur, “I love you.”

In an instant, Yuri’s straddling him again, smoothing a palm down Otabek’s shoulder to rest over his heart before ducking his head and whispering the echo of his words into Otabek’s ear. When they kiss, Otabek can taste himself on Yuri’s lips, on Yuri’s tongue, and it should be unpleasant yet it’s anything but. A primal thought caught deep in the back of his mind muses that he’s marked Yuri as his, and a growl rumbles through his chest as he chases after Yuri’s mouth as he breaks away to catch his breath.

“God, Beka,” Yuri breathes, nipping at his bottom lip. His erection presses persistently against Otabek’s stomach, and even Otabek’s dick has started to stir, half interested between them. “I never… I’ve never… Fuck, I _love_ you.”

It’s said with an air of realisation, as if Yuri hadn’t really considered the weight of his words, of his feelings. He blinks up at Otabek, chewing on his swollen lip, before breaking into a smile.

“You know, I’ve never been in love. Before you,” he admits, so easily and openly and completely unlike the aloof stranger Otabek had first spoken to. Yuri kisses him gently, runs his tongue over Otabek’s bottom lip before drawing away again. “I’m so happy I met you. So, _so_ happy, Beka.”

They kiss, and they sink beneath the covers, moving against each other and sharing the same breath. When they’re both sated and sleepy, Yuri curls back up on Otabek’s phone and scrolls through his social media with Otabek stroking his hair until the sun is high in the sky, rays breaking through the gaps in the curtain and tickling their skin. After a long time without speaking, Yuri nudges against Otabek’s collar and shows him his phone.

It’s the same picture from earlier, but edited, framing just their faces and the intimate meeting of their mouths. Yuri’s put some sepia-toned filter on it so the image looks just as reminiscent as the memory feels. “Can I post it?”

“Yeah,” Otabek says, and when the page reloads, he lets the tags sink into his skin.

#boyfriends #love #mine

*

 **Yura <3:** Your sister added me on facebook today _18.58_

 **You** : Which one? _19.02_

 **Yura <3** : Aidana _19.04_

 **Yura <3** : Sent me some interesting pictures courtesy of Mama Altin _19.04_

 **You** : Not the dress one _19.05_

 **Yura <3** : Yes the dress one _19.05_

Img. 045823985394 _19.05_

Yuri does him the honour of sending said to him- not that it’s not already seared into his mind forever. He’s maybe four of five, the spitting image of his father except for his mother’s high cheekbones and unruly hair, and Aidana had finally wrestled him into one of her old princess dresses. He thinks maybe it’s Cinderella, or maybe it’s Ariel, he can’t quite remember, and the identifying cameo has long since been detached from the front. Beneath the sleeves, his own striped shirt pokes out, caught awkwardly beneath the fabric as his arms cross stubbornly over his chest. Somehow Dana’s managed to clip in little butterflies and bows, and his lips a suspiciously pink- he suspects she broke into their mother’s makeup drawer.

To anyone else looking, he supposes he looks cute. cheeks chubby, lips pouty, very much as angelic looking a child with a permanent resting bitch face could be. It’s not a part of himself he wants floating around for the world to see, but he supposes it’s okay for _his_ world to see.

 **Yura <3** : When are you gonna model for me, Beka? _19.06_

 **You** : I’ll model for you whenever you want _19.07_

 **Yura <3** : How about tomorrow? You can model your new tie for me _19.08_

 **You** : Just my new tie? _19.09_

 **Yura <3** : Don’t wanna obscure my view or anything (; _19.09_

 **You** : Anything for you _19.10_

*

Neither Otabek nor Yuri truly celebrate Christmas, but Nikolai still insisted that they came round on the day in question for what he promises is going to be the feast of a lifetime. Before it comes, though, Otabek has to suffer through the last day of work- suffer, because Yuri’s decides to come in dressed in a ridiculously scanty _slutty Santa_ outfit as he so eloquently dubbed it when Otabek picked him up for work. It’s nothing but a pair of red vinyl hot pants, thigh highs and a faux fur lined crop top. The thin hoodie he’d pulled on over the top to brave the elements had horrified Otabek to the point that he’d ushered Yuri back inside to throw on a sweater, a trench coat and a scarf.

They’d all come straight off as soon as they’d reached the office, and a small part of Otabek hated that everyone was ogling the slender expanse of Yuri’s navel, the toned muscles of his thighs. At lunch, they’d ended back in the supply closet and committed acts Otabek had only ever heard of in the post-watershed  TV dramas his sisters loved to watch. Yuri on his knees, holding a sprig of white buds nestled in white leaves above Otabek’s belt buckle. _I’m gonna kiss you beneath the mistletoe,_ he’d murmured, his other hand working to get Otabek’s slacks down and his dick out.

He’d almost ruined it when he said _You gonna make it snow, angel?_ Yuri had to stop for a full on minute, muffling his laughter with the back of his hand whilst Otbaek’s erection was ignored, wet and cold in the draft that pushed through under the door.

 _Let me do the dirty talk, Beka,_ Yuri had announced after he’d regained his composure, stroking him back to full hardness from where he’d flagged from embarrassment. _I’m much better at being naughty than you._

He’s thinking about it now, staring at Yuri’s awful Santa hat from where he’s bouncing up the path to his grandfather’s front door. Otabek doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to look at anything relating to Jolly Ol’ Saint Nick again without blushing and growing half hard simultaneously.

As promised, Nikolai’s kitchen is filled to the brim with enough food to feed an army- or one very determined Yuri. Three full courses, all the trimmings, wine, the lot. Otabek knows now that whenever he steps through the front door of the Plisetsky Senior residence, he’s going to be leaving at least ten pounds heavier, but he certainly wasn’t prepared for intensely rich Devil’s food cake Nikolai had prepared for dessert.

At least he wore sweatpants this time.

After they’re done eating, Yuri insists that they leave the dishes for later in favour of opening up presents. At Nikolai’s instruction, Otabek lights a fire, and the three of them gather around, the older Plisetsky reclined in his armchair with the younger resting against the coffee table, picking at the threadbare rug beneath his feet. Otabek sits with his back towards the fire, the heat emanating from the flames warm, but not nearly as intense as the glow in Yuri’s eyes as he hands Otabek his gift.

It’s wrapped in paper printed with festive felines, cats in party hats with _M_ _eowy Christmas_ stamped between the gaps.When Otabek tests its solidity between his fingers, he finds that it’s soft to touch.

“Don’t just stare at it, Beka,” Yuri chides, smacking his palms down on his thighs. “Open it.”

“Patience, Yurochka,” Nikolai scolds, but laughter betrays his stern words.

With a final glance up at Yuri, who’s leaning in eagerly, smile wide and bright in the firelight, Otabek fumbles at the first strip of sellotape his fingers come across.

“Oh God, you’re someone who doesn’t rip _paper_ ,” groans in exasperation as Otabek slowly breaks his way into the parcel. “That’s it, we’re over.” Just to spite him, Otabek takes his sweet time, much to Nikolai’s amusement. He’s scratching at a crossword whilst he waits his turn, newspaper rustling more than the gift wrap Otabek’s fighting with. “Oh my God, I’m going to _die_.”

“I don’t remember asking for a brat for Christmas,” Nikolai remarks as the paper loosens just enough for Otabek to slip whatever’s inside out of its confines. Between his fingers is the softest of woven materials, charcoal grey in colour, just like the tie Yuri despises so much. He holds up the jumper to look at it closely, the delicate stitching, the v-neckline, and knows it’s another thing Yuri’s made- just for him.

“Yura,” he says, rubbing his thumbs over the sleeves. “I love it.”

“I just thought you could wear it with your uniform, y’know? When it gets cold,” he babbles before catching himself, chewing on his lower lip. He blushes, ducking his chin to hide his face, like Otabek hasn’t seen a hundred different types of flushes pass over his skin.

“Thank you,” he says, leaning over a giving him the sweetest kiss he dares under the watchful eye of his grandfather. “You didn’t have to.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Yuri mumbles, pink ears poking out of his hair. “I can’t just _not_ get you something.”

“What did you get me then, Yurochka?” Nikolai interrupts after Yuri leans in to kiss Otabek again. This time, both of them are left blushing.

It turns out that Yuri’s bought Nikolai a brand new poker set, something that makes him rub his hands together in satisfaction. After everything else has been opened- a bottle of scotch for Nikolai from Otabek, and a pair of fuzzy cat slippers for Yuri from his grandfather- Nikolai insists that they set up a game of poker before Yuri and Otabek leave for the night.

Yuri frowns at his feet, not quite pouting, but there’s a disheartened slump to his shoulders, and Otabek has a feeling he knows exactly why.

“I want to give you my present later,” Otabek murmurs, coming to rest beside Yuri and wrapping an arm around his waist. “Just the two of us.”

Yuri relaxes into him, making a soft noise of contentment in the back of his throat when Otabek brushes his lips against the shell of his ears. “I wasn’t sulking.”

“I know you weren’t,” Otabek says, eyes on the cards being dealt to him but a small smile twisting at his lips.

“I _wasn’t_ ,” Yuri insists, wriggling against his side. “ _Beka_.”

“I know, Yura.” Nikolai sends a stern look their way, and reluctantly they separate so they can start the game. Otabek leaves one last lingering kiss to Yuri's cheek before picking up his cards. “It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

It doesn’t surprise anyone that Nikolai ends the night with the biggest stack of chips. Yuri’s poker face is downright awful- Otabek can read his eyes as if they are a mirror reflecting the suits and numbers, but so can his grandfather. After a few moments of grouching about his grievances, Otabek volunteers them to do the long forgotten washing up, pressing kisses to Yuri’s hairline despite his grumbling.

“It’s not fair.” Otabek barely hears him over the rush of water filling the kitchen sink, but he does hear the first clink of china banging together as Yuri drops dishes into the basin. “He always wins.”

“You’re too expressive,” Otabek murmurs, coming behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist. For a while, they simply sway, Yuri’s hands working at washing beneath the water whilst Otabek dips his hands beneath the hem of his jumper and strokes the smooth skin of his stomach, Yuri tilts his head, baring his neck for Otabek to mark with his lips. When his teeth graze the spot below his ear, Yuri lets out a low, breathy moan. “See? _Expressive_.”

“Stop that,” Yuri scolds, gently elbowing Otabek in the ribs. He turns in Otabek’s arms, flicking at his nose with a sudsy finger whilst pouting. Otabek kisses him, of course, and Yuri gives in for a moment before he realises the battle he’s fighting and shakes himself out of it. “You can’t just tease me whilst I do all the work.”

“Sorry,” Otabek murmurs sheepishly, ducking his head and pressing his lips to Yuri’s one last time before grabbing a dishcloth. They work together in an easy quietness, punctured by Nikolai mumbling at the news in the other room and the occasional instruction uttered between them. It’s awfully domestic- Otabek’s never been fond of doing dishes, but he finds he doesn’t quite mind it with Yuri by his side.

It gives him the final ounce of courage it takes for him to pull a small box from his pocket.

“Yura,” he starts, but after turning the box between his fingers, he finds he doesn’t quite know what he wants to say. Yuri hums, letting Otabek know he’s listening, whilst he stacks a roasting dish on the drying rack. “I was wondering whether… you… would want to move in with me?”

The knife Yuri’s holding clatters into the sink.

“What?”

“I mean, you don’t have to. We don’t have to- it was just a thought, but I got this for you anyway, just in case-” Good God, it’s probably the most Otabek’s ever spoken at once. Breathing deep, he slides the box onto the countertop, nothing but black cardboard tied with red ribbon, Yet it houses Otabek’s entire future. “It’s yours, if you want it. If you want to move in, or not.”

“Be-ka,” Yuri stutters, sudsy hands fumbling to untie the binding and take off the lid. Trembling lightly, he picks out the key inside, attached to a chain with a small tiger’s head. After a few seconds, he curls his fingers around it so tight his knuckles whiten. “ _Yes_.”

“Yes?” Otabek parrots, because although it’s the answer he was longing for, it still feels unreal to hear it spoken allowed. When he glances up at Yuri, into the eyes he falls deeper in love with every single day, he finds them bright and shiny, lashes heavy with drops of tears.

“Yes. Yes! _Yes yes yes_ ,” Yuri exclaims, launching himself into Otabek’s arms. He swings Yuri around the kitchen, their laughter bouncing off the tiles, until he’s dizzy- on love, on anticipation, on _Yuri_. “Oh my fucking _God_.”

They sink to the floor, breathless and beaming. Despite his wide smile, Yuri’s shed a few tears. They slip off his chin and collect over his clavicle, and Yuri wipes them away with the hem of his shirt. They kiss, slow and sweet, the salt of Yuri’s tears heavy on his tongue, before they draw away, touching each other simply; Yuri’s hands braced on his chest, one of Otabek’s buried in Yuri’s hair.

“You’ve made my present look so _shit_ now,” Yuri says eventually, curling his fingers into Otabek’s shirt.

“No I haven’t,” Otabek says, shaking his head. Gently, he rubs his thumb over Yuri’s cheekbone and to his ear, pushing away the hair falling in his face.“You are the greatest gift in my life.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a fucking sap,” Yuri says, but he’s laughing despite himself, pressing wet kisses to Otabek’s mouth as he slides his arms around his neck, “I can’t believe you want me.”

“I’ll always want you,” Otabek promises, it’s true. He can’t fathom a future without Yuri in it- waking up to him curled up on his chest in the morning, walking out of work hand in hand, beneath soft sheets late at night, taking each other apart. There’s not a minute in the day that Otabek can’t see Yuri being there. “Forever and always.”

“I love you,” Yuri murmurs, tugging Otabek down by his hair so their lips are together, and he can feel the words pressed into his skin. “So much.”

When they finally collect themselves, they sheepishly walk in, hand in hand, to tell Nikolai the good news. he takes one long, lingering look at the two of them before simply saying, “I suppose You better tell me what all of that commotion was about, then.”

*

They go back to Otabek’s apartment that night. Yuri’s been there before in fleeting moments, but it’s the first time he’s staying over, the first time he uses his own key to turn the lock, to let them both in. Otabek always knew there was something missing- the rooms always were a little cold, a little lifeless with just Otabek’s own stillness occupying them. Yuri’s heels click on the hardwood, his offhand comments about Otabek’s furniture choices and his delighted laughter when Otabek picks him up and throws him over his shoulder fill the walls with warmth.

He realises, as they fall onto the mattress, that he was missing Yuri. He’s known it, really, in the back of his mind for a while now, but having him here, living and laughing in his arms, in his bed, turns a distant thought into a reality.

“We’re gonna have to do some redecorating,” Yuri comments, smoothing his fingers over the duvet cover with Otabek above him, straddling his hips. “I won’t be caught dead sleeping in goddamn _beige_ sheets.”

“What about tonight?” Otabek asks, capturing one of Yuri’s wandering hands and brushing a kiss to his knuckles.

Yuri gazes up at him with heavy lidded eyes, a perfectly devilish smile curling his lips. “Who says we’re gonna get any sleep?”

Between them, Yuri slips his hand into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out a shiny foil packet. “Yura, are you-?”

“Yeah, fuck yeah,” Yuri breathes, running his hands through Otabek’s hair and tugging at the roots to bring him close enough to kiss. “I want you so bad, Beka. All of you.”

“I want you, too,” Otabek says, ducking to trail his lips down Yuri’s bared throat, grazing his teeth against his collarbone and making him shiver beneath his touch. Yuri tugs at the hem of his shirt, and Otabek gets the message and helps Yuri push it over his head, fingers roaming against exposed, smooth skin. “So beautiful.”

“Stop that,” Yuri complains at the verbal attention, but he certainly doesn’t mind when Otabek’s mouth trails over his chest, working his tongue against the sensitive flesh of a nipple. Yuri’s breath stutters and falters in his chest, Otabek can feel how erratic it becomes beneath his lips, can feel the hammering of his heart beneath his ribs. “ _Beka_.”

“Hmm?” Otabek hums around a bud, feigning ignorance.

“Take your fucking clothes off too,” he whines, fingers tugging at his sweatshirt to the point Otabek’s worried it’s going to rip. “ _Please_.”

How can he say no to that?

Yuri gets his shirt halfway up his chest before Otabek decides he’ll take pity on him and shrug out of it completely. For a moment, they regard each other, fire in their eyes, on their fingertips that sear over each other’s skin, before Yuri makes the most desperate little noise, tucked away in the back of his throat for only Otabek to hear.

“What do you want, Yura?” Otabek asks, touch trailing over every rib, the dip of Yuri’s waist, until his fingers are hooked in Yuri’s belt loops, pulling them ever closer together.

“You.” He strains up, seeking lips with lips, and Otabek indulges him for a second before breaking away. Panting lightly, Yuri tries to chase him, but Otabek pulls away quickly, enjoying this game of cat and mouse. “Beka, _please_.”

After another wanton whine, Otabek closes the distance between them again, undoing the button on Yuri’s jeans as the kiss, hot and messy, full of a desperation Otabek’s only ever felt in the most dirty, desirous dreams. By the time they’re both undressed and achingly hard, Yuri’s vibrating beneath Otabek’s palms, reacting to every touch, every scrape of nail, every graze of tooth, so sensually- arching his back, digging his heels into the small of Otabek’s back, thighs squeezing tight around his hips.

“Lube,” he gasps when Otabek’s touch wanders lower, a single finger stroking between his entrance and the soft skin of his sac. Another idea at the forefront of his mind, he gently disentangles Yuri’s legs and sinks lower between them, kissing a trail from the sharp crest of his hipbone to the apex of his thigh. “What…?”

“Can I?” Otabek asks, pressing a single lingering kiss to Yuri’s perineum.

“Y-yeah,” Yuri stutters, throwing an arm over his eyes. Even before Otabek places his mouth over his hole, Yuri’s cheeks are flushed pink- pinker than the light blush of arousal colouring all of his pale skin- and his lower lip is trapped between his teeth. Otabek waits for Yuri to relax, gently stroking the tightness of his thighs, yet he never truly does. He eases up a little when Otabek mouths at his trembling muscles, when he murmurs sickeningly sweet obscenities into his skin, but he never truly lets go.

“What’s wrong?” Otabek asks, instead distracting Yuri by wrapping a hand around his dick, slowly stroking back and forth. His hips follow the movement, and a frustrated whine leaves his lips when Otabek draws his fingers away. When Otabek’s ministrations fail to continue, Yuri moves his arm and sits up on his elbows, hair mussed and framing his flushed face, with a wariness shadowing his eyes. “Yura?”

“I… It’s just,” he begins before flopping back down onto the mattress, both hands raising to scrub at his face, “No one’s ever…”

“I don’t have to,” Otabek says, realising what he’s hinting at. He caresses Yuri’s hip, encouraging him to remove his hands, remove his insecurities and simply  _trust_. “I don’t have to, but I’d like to.”

“Okay,” he says, barely a whisper, extending one arm so he can run his knuckles over Otabek’s cheeks. Otabek catches his wrist and presses a kiss to each to each fingertip before he lets Yuri bury them in his hair. He takes the gesture as an affirmation to advance, licking a long strip from his sac to his hole, but Yuri’s tugs his head up before he can finish the journey. “But!”

“If you want me to stop, I’ll stop,” Otabek reassures him. He can feel saliva cooling against his chin already.

“But...  what if _you-_ ,” he cuts himself off again, but loosens his grip so Otabek can rest his cheek on Yuri’s thigh.

“If I want to stop, then I’ll stop too.” Otabek comforts him with kisses, trailing back so he back between Yuri’s legs again. “I promise.”

He starts with faint, fluttering kisses, letting Yuri adjust to the feeling of his mouth against him. It takes him a few moments to adjust, but before long his hips are sinking in the mattress and his thighs are tightening around his head. When Yuri starts making soft sighs of pleasure, Otabek introduces his tongue, pressing gently against his entrance, tenderly working to loosen the muscle. Hooking his arms around Yuri’s hips, Otabek pulls Yuri’s legs further apart to allow him to go deeper, indulging in the deep musky tang that is so uniquely his _Yura_.

“Ah, Beka- _Otabek_ ," Yuri gasps, writing against the mattress. Otabek glances up and is greeted by the sight of Yuri’s dick, straining, red and leaking, and beyond that, Yuri himself. His chest is heaving, the one hand not tangled in Otabek’s hair is buried in his own- he looks positively ruined. “ _Fuck me_ .” Otabek hums against him, and Yuri keens, hips rolling off the bed and seeking friction that isn’t there. “ _Please_.”

Drawing away, Otabek leaves Yuri just long enough to fumble in his bedside drawer for the lube. Yuri watches him eagerly, eyes falling to where his own dick juts obscenely from his body.

He raises an eyebrow. “Enjoying the view?”

“Shut the fuck  _up_ and get your fingers in me,” Yuri snarls, springing back to his prevailing impatience. He’s sitting up now, looking the very image of an appetent angel with his rumpled hair and pouty appearance. Otabek dawdles, Leaning to kiss Yuri long and deep and narrowly avoiding Yuri’s wandering hands attempting to wrap around his erection. “Let me touch you at least if you’re gonna be such a big fucking _tease_.”

“Patience, Yura,” Otabek muses, settling back on the bed. Yuri crawls over until he’s straddling him, which is fine by Otabek. This way, he gets to gauge Yuri’s reaction, kiss him breathless whilst he touches him. He’s always enjoyed this part of sex, preparing his partner until they’re shivering and gasping in his arms.

He can’t wait to see how Yuri looks in the throes of _that_ particular desperation.

The bottle cap clicks open, and Otabek drizzles lube onto his fingers. Yuri muffles a moan into Otabek’s shoulder as one finger circles around and slips in easily, as it's joined by a second with very little resistance too. Yuri’s hips lower to meet each intrusion, little moans breaking across Otabek’s skin whenever he curls his fingers just right, when Yuri begs for a third and it feels _so fucking good, Beka_ that Yuri’s nails claw into the muscles of his back.

By the time Yuri tells him he’s ready, he’s muttering curses into the sweaty skin at Otabek’s collar, biting at the bone and trembling beneath his touch. Otabek kisses his damp forehead, lips lingering until Yuri pulls away, pulls his nails from Otabek’s back and skims them over his shoulders.

“I wanna ride you,” Yuri slurs, biting at Otabek’s ear. “That okay?”

“Yeah.” It’s more than _okay_ . Otabek’s dick throbs at the thought of Yuri rising and falling above him, _over_ and _over_ and _over_.

“Good,” he whispers, nosing down Otabek’s neck and back up again, grazing their lips together, and then longer, murmuring lyrics of love against his skin whilst he reaches for the condom. Their foreheads rest together as Yuri rips open the packet and rolls it over the head, their hands coming together to roll the latex down Otabek’s full length. He can’t help the involuntary roll of his hips at the touch, snapping up into the friction of Yuri’s fist.

“Patience, Beka,” Yuri mocks him, leaning up on his knees and positioning himself above Otabek. One hand holds his erection steady, the other comes to Yuri’s hip, guiding him down. Otabek looks up, transfixed, his head brushing against Yuri’s entrance, at the concentration creasing Yuri’s brow. Lips parted and panting, he sinks lower, wincing slightly as he adjusts to the fullness of Otabek inside him. Massaging soothing circles into Yuri’s skin, Otabek murmurs nonsensical encouragements as Yuri’s tight heat continues to envelope him. By the time he’s bottomed out, they’re both panting, heaving chests moving against each other as Yuri mouths at Otabek’s jaw.

When Yuri becomes accustomed to Otabek’s size, he clenches around him experimentally, and Otabek can’t help the groan of pleasure that breaks past his gritted teeth. he’s completely consumed by him: the smell of his skin- all sweat, sex and sweet perfume- the fingers that brush up against his chest, skimming his nipples before travelling higher to his neck, the guttural gasp urging him to _move_.

Otabek thrusts up, and Yuri moans his name, throwing his head back as he rises up again. It takes a while, but they build a steady rhythm, Yuri sinking down to meet him on every upthrust, bending over to kiss him, open mouthed and sloppy as he slips sensual sighs between breathy _I love you’_ s. A fire blazes beneath Otabek’s skin, kindled by every noise, the lewd smacks of their bodies colliding, the creak of mattress springs and the intermingling _thud thud thud_ of both his heart and his bed frame hitting the wall.

Just as the fire threatens to devour him, it’s doused as Yuri’s movements begin to slow. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Yuri breathes, lifting himself off of Otabek. He stares down at his dick, and for a horrible few seconds, Otabek thinks there’s something wrong with him. Is he too big? Too _small?_ Is he just bad at sex and no one ever thought to tell him otherwise? _Oh, God, what if_ \- but Yuri’s wrapping his hand around him, slowly stroking down until he meets the rim of the condom.

“I wanna feel you. All of you,” he says, as sheepishly as anyone very naked and very aroused can. Otabek’s brain seems to malfunction, still stuttering from his moment of insecurity.

“You want…?”

“To take it off?” Yuri finishes, running a single finger back up his shaft, around the top of the head and pressing into the slit. Otabek _throbs_ under the touch. “Yeah, if that’s okay.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” he manages to say, voice hoarse and husky. He clears his throat as Yuri rips the condom off, throwing it to some far corner of his room to find later. With one deep, dizzying kiss, Yuri takes Otabek in hand aligns himself up before taking him whole. “ _Yura_.”

With nothing between them anymore, Yuri rolls his hips experimentally, letting out a low, lewd hum of approval. Otabek’s mouth falls to Yuri’s chest as they begin moving again, flicks a nipple with his tongue as he takes Yuri’s neglected dick in hand. At the first stroke, he’s moaning, cursing God and Otabek’s name to filth as he continues to slam his hips down. Otabek can feel his own release building, intensified by the sharp scrape of nails against his scalp, the way Yuri wetly kisses whatever skin his lips land on.

It’s when Otabek bites at Yuri’s neck that Yuri really begins to clench around him. “God, Beka, I’m gonna-”

“Me too,” he says, because hearing Yuri so close to falling over the edge is enough to push him into oblivion too. His hips are faltering, and he drives up into Yuri one last time before his orgasm hits. It’s hot and intense, the kind you feel in your toes, on the tip of your tongue, and when Otabek drifts back down from his high of ecstasy, Yuri looks as if he’s reaching for that feeling too. “I love you.”

“Ah, _Iloveyousomuch_ ,” he slurs, and Otabek’s stroking him, telling him how beautiful he is as his hand moves over his dick, as Yuri whine and writhes above him. With a final thrust upwards, Yuri’s spilling over Otabek’s knuckles, over his own chest. It drips down onto Otabek’s own abdomen, into his pubic hair, but it doesn’t matter because Yuri’s slumping into him, breathing heavily into his neck. Otabek’s arms come to wrap around him, the hand not coated in cooling release coming to stroke at his sweat-slicked hair.

“Was that alright?” Otabek asks when their breathing has even out. He can feel Yuri’s eyelashes fluttering against his skin, and he really needs to clean them up before they both fall asleep.

“More than alright,” Yuri says, shifting to rest his chin on Otabek’s shoulder. “I don’t wanna say this is the best night of my life, but…” He shrugs, and the smile the spreads across his sleepy face is warm and wide. “I could get used to this.”

“You can.” Otabek brushes his hair away from his eyes, brushes his fingers along the seam of Yuri’s smile. “We’ve got many nights ahead of us.”

“Mmmm,” Yuri hums, nuzzling against Otabek’s palm. “Yeah, we do.”

*

Despite Yuri’s strong aversion to Otabek’s sheets, he ends up falling, sprawled out face down on top of the covers. Otabek sneaks off to clean himself up and grab a washcloth, and Yuri awakens briefly to allow himself to be taken care of. Somehow, Otabek manages to wrestle him beneath the duvet, and there he joins his sleeping beauty, gently repositioning themselves so he’s curled around Yuri’s back, nose buried in his hair.

Although exhaustion aches his body, Otabek’s mind won't release him from consciousness. Every heartbeat brings a new thought, a new worry.  _Will Yuri be happy here? Should they look for a new place? What about Potya? Will she be alright moving? And his landlord- what if he won’t allow cats?_ As if sensing his distress, Yuri stirs, shifting sluggishly against Otabek’s chest a resting his lips over his heart. Otabek feels his sigh ghost over his skin, feels it sinking beneath his bones and lulling his racing pulse into submission.

The next thing he knows is sunlight, breaking above the city skyline and gently igniting his room. Otabek, who didn’t think there was anything more beautiful than Yuri falling apart above him, is wrong once again. Nothing compares to waking next to him, the mark of his love on his neck, and golden hair fanning around him, softened in sleep.

He finds, in the early morning glow, that maybe he doesn’t have anything to worry about. Life has a funny way of falling into place in ways Otabek couldn’t ever dream of. All he knows is that he has a new love, a new life stretching before them, and a new year on the horizon, shining like the sun.

*

 **Yura <3** : Where are you???? _9.46_

 **You** : In the kitchen _9.47_

 **Yura <3** : Come here _9.47_

 **You** : Why don’t you? _9.48_

 **Yura <3** : Because my ass hurts and I’m nice and warm _9.49_

 **You** : That sounds like a you problem _9.49_

 **Yura <3** : Half of it is a Beka’s-big-dick problem _9.50_

 **You** : Are you complaining? _9.50_

 **Yura <3** : … _9.50_

 **Yura <3** : No _9.50_

 **Yura <3** : Come here, please. And bring coffee _9.50_

 **You** : As you wish _9.51_

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a new woman, y'all. I mean it this time. I've been writing properly everyday and I feel GREAT. I'm so excited to be back and on the ball!
> 
> Anyway, hi! I'm so sad this has come to an end, because really I got way more invested in this fic than I should have- so invested that there are some sequel ideas spinning around in my head (; Other projects first though y'all!
> 
> Thanks to y'all for being so amazingly supportive and for putting up with me- I hope this final chapter was worth the wait- I've been so excited to post it ever since I wrote Beka's birthday dinner because oh boy even I was getting the feels when I was writing it, and I don't normally feel anything xD Can you believe this whole fic can about because I actually wanted to write that Xmas blow job fic in like a 5k one shot and then we ended up with THIS fucking monstrosity that just glosses over it? I ain't the queen of tangents for nothing (;
> 
> I'd also like to thank my number one supporter and just general life manager Never for keeping me on the straight and narrow. I hope you like this conclusion too.
> 
> I feel all emosh now- this is my second completed wip and I kinda feel a bit more accomplished xD 
> 
> (also surprise I raised the rating- I hope that's enough to say I'm sorry for the wait!)
> 
> Come check me out here:
> 
> [ zeldaismyhomegirl](http://zeldaismyhomegirl.tumblr.com/)  
> [ @ItsCatAvalon](http://twitter.com/ItsCatAvalon)  
> I'll be working on a few things that I can't post for a while, but hopefully it won't be too long until there's something new here too.
> 
> Thank you for your continued support!
> 
> xoxo Cat


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